


Not Lost, Only Forgotten

by hetzi_clutch



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: 19th century sexism, Adventure, F/F, Gen, Romance, basically a thasmin au then i accidentally added too much plot, human nature au, like seriously really fucking slowburn so be prepared, slowburn, thasmin, the family of blood RETURNS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-10-12 06:40:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 95,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17462522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hetzi_clutch/pseuds/hetzi_clutch
Summary: It happened after a funny incident, which couldn't even be called hair-raising.The Doctor caught a glimpse of someone, turned, and ran. So they followed. And when they got back to the TARDIS, she was acting strangely, demanding to know if they'd been seen. Piloting back to Sheffield, though none of them asked to return. And then she neatly kicked them out and vanished, leaving Yaz, Graham, and Ryan to return to their incredibly dull lives, wondering what on earth they'd done wrong.Until, a month later, the TARDIS came back.Without the Doctor.(Human Nature AU. Story is completed, and chapters will be posted every few days!)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A couple notes:  
> -I've done a lot of research for historical accuracy, but there's def stuff I missed, and I apologize in advance for any mistakes.  
> -I'm also not British, so I'm sure I've messed up somewhere(s) in terms of slang, geography, linguistics, etc. If you see something, please tell me! And tell me what it should be as well, and I'll fix it.  
> -I tried to put my own spin on Human Nature, and not follow exactly the beats of the original story. We'll see if I've managed that.  
> -This is thasmin slowburn. Like, reeeeeaaaalllyy slowburn. If that's what you're reading for, be prepared. There's also lots of plot (I swear I didn't mean to add it).  
> -As stated in the summary, the work is completed, and chapters will be posted every few days, depending on my schedule. I've had a lot of fun writing this, so I hope you'll enjoy reading it!

_Ryan: hey, morning_

Yaz heard the beep signaling an incoming message and glanced over at her phone screen, but didn’t move to answer it until she’d finished tying her boots. She already knew the message wouldn’t be from the person she wanted to hear from. She wasn’t even sure the Doctor had her mobile, come to think of it, but she had a sneaking suspicion that that wouldn’t stop her from getting in contact.

It had been a month, with no word, and no sign of the TARDIS. If the Doctor wanted to contact them, she would’ve by now. 

Ryan thought differently. He argued that, with the Doctor’s steering, it would come as no surprise to wait one month, two months, even longer, for the TARDIS to finally wheeze back into Sheffield, with the Doctor oblivious to the fact that she’d been gone so long. The Doctor, Ryan argued, had probably gotten ‘six hours’ mixed up with ‘six months’.

Yaz hoped so. Still, four dreadfully boring weeks had passed with no sign of either the TARDIS or the Doctor, and she was starting to lose hope. She could tell that Ryan and Graham were feeling the same way, though neither wanted to admit it. Graham claimed he actually enjoyed a bit of peace and quiet, but in the few times they’d met, Yaz had sensed a quiet disappointment in his countenance. 

Once she finished tying up her boots, she grabbed her phone and swiped open the message to respond. _morning to you too. what’s up?_

Ryan’s reply came back not a second later, signaling his probable boredom. _not much, just hanging. wanna come over and chill? graham said he’d make breakfest_

Yaz glanced out the window, where a dreary rain trickled down, and grimaced. _sorry, i have work :(_

_damn, really? its saturday tho_

_i knoooow. no rest for the wicked_

_haha good luck w the weather. maybe tomorrow?_

_yea for sure if i dont get scheduled. and only if graham makes me pancakes_

Ryan just responded to this with a smiley and a thumbs up, and Yaz smiled briefly at her phone before tucking it into her pocket. That was the one good thing that had happened in the past month. Even with the Doctor gone, Yaz and Ryan and Graham had maintained their friendship. They went over to each others’ houses on the weekends, and kept in constant contact through text. Even Graham had gotten into the texting game, though Ryan and Yaz made constant fun of him for his overly formal texts and insistence on ending each sentence with a period. He took it in good sport though, and in the past few weeks went out of his way to keep the three together. He’d even pulled Yaz aside once and told her, with grandfatherly seriousness, that Yaz had to know she was welcome over at theirs, anytime, and for any reason. In return, Yaz made sure they came around at least once a week for tea.

It was a nice sort of routine, but boring. It edged perilously close to the life Yaz had known before their travels, with not a single hitch in time to suggest something out of the ordinary had occurred. The Doctor, when she’d hurriedly dropped them off, had even managed to return them on the same day they’d left, with only a couple hours’ difference. Her family hadn’t noticed she’d been gone, nor had her job. Yaz had jumped back into her life to find that everything marched along in the same ho-hum fashion it always had. Nothing had changed.

Only something _had_ changed, and Yaz was beginning to think it was her. Her, and Ryan and Graham, for she saw it in their faces too, at the way they seemed sort of at loose-ends, how they moved about distractedly from thing to thing, glancing around as if to say, _is this it?_ She could feel her patience unraveling day to day. Often times, in the middle of a shift, after sorting out some silly and inconsequential argument, Yaz would catch herself gazing into nothing with a frown etched upon her face, as the same thoughts circled over and over in her mind.

_Why did you just leave us? Did we do something, did you just get tired of us? Where’d you go? Is that—is that all? Just leave us back in Sheffield without a goodbye, not even a ‘nice to know ya?’ What’d we do wrong?_

When the three of them got together they never set out to talk about her—but inevitably, that was where the conversation ended up. They spent hours picking at the subject, unable to help themselves, even though by this point Yaz figured it would be better to leave well enough alone. She was the pessimist in their group, and often took the losing side in the arguments. Ryan insisted she had just gotten her dates mixed up, and would be back to pick them up. Graham sided with him, though Yaz thought it was more out of a slowly dwindling hope than anything else. She wanted to believe him too, wanted to think that the Doctor had just misjudged her steering and would come get them any day now, with a big grin and a litany of flustered apologies—but something stopped her. Perhaps because, deep down, part of her never really believed that such a thing could happen—and to _her,_ of all people. That she could be picked up by a time-traveling madwoman to explore the universe. It was all too good to be true.

Yaz supposed there had always been a tiny part of her waiting for the dream to burst. Now that it had, she could scarcely imagine it coming true again.

And lately, even Ryan had dropped some of his optimistic reassurances, in favor of an increasingly worried look in his eye whenever they returned to the subject. In the past few days they’d avoided talking about it at all, because the longer the Doctor’s absence stretched on, the harder it became to imagine anything other than the colorless reality in front of them.

As Yaz stepped outside into the drizzling rain, she wondered for the millionth time if she was doing herself any favors, dwelling on the Doctor. Probably, she should just start moving on.

———

Once, Yaz had jumped out of bed in the morning to start each shift, no matter how early that happened to be. In her mind’s eye, every shift was just one incremental step towards the career she wanted; first, real patrols, then some responsibility, then eventually, being in charge. Parking disputes frustrated her, but she waited it out patiently, because she had her eye on the real prize. 

Now the minute she clocked out, Yaz felt her shoulders—no, her whole body—just sag with relief. Every dreadfully long minute she stood out there, in the rain more often than not, sorting out piddling parking disputes made Yaz feel as if she were about to burst. It was frustrating, sure, but it had always been frustrating. Now it felt like torture. 

Once, Yaz recalled longingly, she had actually looked forward to her job, even the boring parts. Now the idea of standing around with a badge and a safety vest filled her with despair. 

_And it shouldn’t be like that,_ she thought angrily as she trudged up the walk to her flat block. Yaz was no fool; she knew it wasn’t the job that was the problem. It was all that she had done in relation to it, which made her formerly exciting career prospects seem about as interesting as mud. And it wasn’t even that she didn’t want to go back to policing—rather, it was that she hadn’t had the choice. That she hadn’t gotten the closure one expected, but rather rudely been dumped back in her town without even a goodbye from the most amazing woman she’d ever met, after she hadn’t seen nearly enough, and—

_And there you go complaining again,_ she reprimanded herself. She’d been doing that quite a lot, lately. She’d catch herself doing it in spare moments at work, or most often on her way back home, when she was exhausted and dispirited and sick of dealing with the angry public. It was just so easy to fall into, particularly when Ryan and Graham weren’t around to argue her out of it.

_But you shouldn’t need them,_ she reminded herself. _Because c’mon, are you really gonna trudge around all your life being bitter? You’ve just gotta start moving on. That’s all._

But that was easier said than done. Yaz pondered this as she pulled her hat down low against the rain, which had persisted—despite all odds—throughout her entire shift. Maybe it really was because she hadn’t gotten closure. No goodbyes—just a hasty drop-off, and a ‘see ya maybe’. If they—if she—could just get a real goodbye, a proper ending to all of those wonderful adventures, then she figured she would be able to move on.

Yaz was still thinking about this as she rounded the last corner leading into her flat block, and walked straight into the TARDIS.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyy it's your boi back at it with another chapter where things actually start happening
> 
> oh and thank you for all the kind comments! I truly appreciate every single one.

“No _way—_ ”

Yaz stumbled back out of instinct to avoid running smack dab into the ship, even as her heart soared in sheer delight. She regained her balance and craned her neck to take the whole blue box in, grinning madly despite herself. _It’s the TARDIS, she’s back, the Doctor is—_

And then her grin melted away as she noticed the state of the TARDIS. She looked as if she had just escaped a house fire, though Yaz knew from experience that it took much more than a simple fire to damage the ship. Her paint was blistered and peeling, the whole front side scorched black, and one of the front window panes was cracked, though Yaz wasn’t sure if the integrity of the window panes served more than just aesthetic.

“Oh _no,_ ” Yaz murmured, and reached out to touch the door. “What happened to you?”

As soon as her fingers touched the door—still hot, though not burning, she noted—it clicked open, swinging inwards. Yaz stepped inside immediately, and not without a touch of eagerness, despite her growing worry. Critical as this sudden situation seemed, she couldn’t prevent a tiny, childish part of her mind from jumping in glee. As if to say yes, her dreams had been confirmed. The Doctor was real, and she hadn’t abandoned them. She had just gone off and gotten herself into a load of trouble, it seemed like, and as Yaz stepped inside the console room she half expected to find the Doctor passed out alongside the controls. It certainly fit the picture. And it wouldn’t be the first time.

But the Doctor was not in the console room. Yaz peered underneath, just to see if she had fallen into the lower levels where she often spent time tinkering with the TARDIS, but she wasn’t there either. Yaz’s unease began to grow. How could the TARDIS have gotten back to Sheffield without the Doctor?

Worry made her hasty, and by the time Yaz had checked the kitchen—no Doctor—and the library—still no Doctor—she was practically running. She skidded around a corner, arrived at the swimming pool, and checked inside though she knew what she’d find. And she was right; the Doctor wasn’t there, nor was she at the tennis courts, or the game room, or the movie theater. She wasn’t in Yaz’s room, or Graham’s, or Ryan’s, and when Yaz stumbled upon a plain blue door which opened to a room filled with books and strange mechanical equipment, along with a dusty bed shoved into a corner, she didn’t even have to look in the closet to know she had found the Doctor’s room. The TARDIS had never led her to such a room before, and its emptiness only proved to Yaz that the Doctor was nowhere to be found.

Somehow, though she’d ran down countless twisting hallways to get to the Doctor’s bedroom, Yaz only had to turn two corners to find the console room again. She figured the TARDIS had something to do with it. 

“Okay,” she gasped once she reached the console. She wasn’t sure where exactly to direct her speech, but several console lights lit up in response. “You have to tell me what’s going on. She’s gone, isn’t she? She’s in trouble, and I’m guessing you know what’s happened.”

She cut off at the last word and waited, breath held, for a response. She wasn’t sure what to expect, but after several seconds, nothing happened, and she let out her breath.

“Please,” she begged, and for lack of direction cast her gaze up, towards the center pillar of the console. “Please, tell me how I can help her.”

This time, Yaz saw several lights flicker, almost as if in indecision. She waited, fighting down the urge to bite out something rude—it was a spaceship after all, who knew how it worked—and then, just as Yaz thought she was about to burst, a panel near her left hand lit up in red.

She stared at it. The lights seemed to be egging her on, flashing in various patterns. “What do you…?”

She leaned over, peering closer, and instantly the lights reformed into the shape of a hand. Hers, she realized, for the shape directly mirrored the size and outline of her own left hand. She lifted her hand hesitantly, and then gave one last look at the TARDIS. “Is this what you want me to do?”

She didn’t expect a reply, but to her surprise an impatient series of beeps chirped from the console. That confirmation was enough to hurry Yaz into pressing her hand hard against the outline, probably harder than she needed to. It didn’t matter though, for as soon as her skin touched the console the outline shifted from red to gold, and what felt like a spark snapped at her fingers. Instinctively, Yaz tried to pull away, but she couldn’t; her hand was stuck, and the spark snapping at her fingers had grown into a fiery burn, which rushed up her arm, despite her attempts to escape. Yaz wanted to panic, but she never got that far; before she could so much as try, she found her legs beginning to give way, and stars bursting in her vision.

Her last thought was to wonder if she had been stupid enough to walk into a trap, and then she slumped against the console, darkness claiming her completely.

———

_A series of images, almost too fast to comprehend -_

_The TARDIS doors burst open and Ryan stumbles through, Graham and Yaz hot on his heels. They stagger to a halt just inside the doorway, panting and coughing from exertion, until the doors swing shut._

_“Hey, where's the Doctor?”_

_Ryan says it first, but there's no time for the others to chime in because the door bangs open and the Doctor falls through. Yaz crowds over her immediately, thinking she's hurt, but it’s only her momentum that’s sent her tumbling over the threshold. She clambers to her feet and grabs Yaz by her hands._

_“Did they see you?!”_

_“W-who?” Yaz stares, confused._

_“The ones chasing us did they see your face?” Her voice is hard, demanding, and after a moment Yaz shakes her head. Immediately the Doctor drops her hands and whirls around to Graham and Ryan. “And you two, did they get sight of you?”_

_Ryan is slack-jawed at the uncharacteristic outburst. “I-I don't know Doc, I didn't even know we were being chased til you told us to run—”_

_“Me neither,” Graham cuts in. “I just turned and started running, didn't catch sight of em.”_

_The Doctor eyes all three of them for a moment, trying to gauge the accuracy of their answer. They stare back, too confused to be worried. After all, what's the emergency? They're safe in the TARDIS now._

_After a moment she sighs, her shoulders dropping with relief. “Alright—right. Good. This is good.”_

_“What are they?” Yaz offers up the question almost tentatively. The Doctor just shakes her head. “Never you mind. Most important thing is that you're all back in the TARDIS—safe.”_

_She plasters on a fairly convincing smile as she speaks, but her expression snags on the last word and twists, ruining the effect. The moment hangs awkwardly in the air, heavy with things the Doctor is obviously not saying, but she just rubs her hands together and plows onwards._

_“Right, so that was a bit of a hair-raiser, yeah? I'll have to take the blame on that one, I keep running into faces I don't want to see—” her facade runs bumpy and uneven as she talks, but as each word falls into place she seems to come back to herself, slotting together the broken pieces of her usual mask. Yaz watches, and it occurs to her that she should be frightened, if it wasn't so interesting to watch._

_And worrying._

_“Doctor, are you sure we're alright?” Yaz suddenly wants desperately to grab her attention more than anything, because right now the words she's saying and the expression she's wearing are normal, but there's something in her disjointed grin and slightly unfocused gaze that is terribly wrong._

_It's almost as if she can see the Doctor shuttering herself off from them._

_Yaz’s stomach twists with sudden foreboding, but the Doctor just keeps chattering on, as if nothing of consequence has occurred in the last few moments. As if a minute ago her voice hadn't been stone cold with fury—or was it fear?_

_“Course we’ll be alright Yaz! It's the TARDIS, remember? Nothing can get through those doors!”_

_She jerks a distracted thumb over her shoulder in the general direction of the doors and moves to the console. “Right, so where to next?”_

_Her back is to them as she begins jabbing at buttons and plugging in numbers. None of them answer, but Yaz sees Ryan and Graham exchange a glance._

_“Well maybe—” Ryan starts._

_“Got it!” The Doctor whirls around and claps her hands together. A grin is firmly in place, and so genuine that Yaz can't tell if it's real. She doesn't seem to notice, or care, that Ryan had just begun to speak. “Sheffield it is!”_

_Their reactions are simultaneous._

_“What?”_

_“Sheffield?”_

_“Why would we go back to—” Yaz is the only one to get even half a sentence out, but the Doctor effectively silences her by turning back to the console and throwing the last lever, the one they've come to recognize as the TARDIS’s takeoff command. The ship lurches, and Yaz nearly bites through her tongue as she grabs the railing to keep from falling._

_Ryan loses his footing and plunges to the ground, but Graham manages to catch his arm in time, sending them both crashing into the console instead. They land right next to the Doctor, who's hanging on for dear life._

_“Hang on!” She calls uselessly. Yaz hugs the railing and makes a face, one she's sure both Ryan and Graham are making as well. It's just the way it always is, them hurtling madly through time and space, guided by the Doctor’s warnings, which always come too-little-too-late._

_Except the Doctor is acting strangely, and not answering their questions, and worst of all, appears to be sending them home. For no reason at all._

_She drops them off, not at their normal spot, but right outside the train station. It's such an odd place to land—they materialize right outside the main entrance, and open the doors to see people rushing by—that Yaz decides to hang back, hoping to get a few answers out of the Doctor. She tends to be more open to those kind of things while one-on-one, Yaz has noticed. Maybe with just Yaz the Doctor will relent to sharing what’s troubling her._

_But she's having none of it._

_“Off you go!” She shoos Ryan and Graham out the door, practically shoving them despite their muffled protests. “You too, Yaz!”_

_Yaz hesitates, dawdling by the console. “Doctor, are you sure you wouldn't want to—”_

_“Sorry Yaz, but now’s not really the time.” She grabs her arm and drags her towards the doors with surprising strength.“We hang around any longer and you'll miss your train!”_

_She pushes Yaz out into what appears to be a misty late evening, and despite her confusion Yaz glances up to see that, yes, there is a train in about four minutes to the stop right by her flat block. “But Doctor, wait—”_

_“Don't worry I've just got an errand to do I'll see you all sooner or later bye!”_

_Yaz feels the pressure leave her arm, and whirls around just in time to see the doors slam shut. She doesn’t hesitate but rushes forward and begins to pound on the doors, only peripherally aware of Graham and Ryan joining in._

_“Hold up—”_

_“You can't just leave us—”_

_“We want to help!”_

_But it's no use, for even as they slam fists and boots against the impervious wood they can hear the familiar wheezing start again, and in the next second their blows begin to sink through. One second more and they can see the wood start to fade away, feel their blows falling through nothing but air, and three seconds later they're stuck shouting uselessly at empty space, as passers-by look on and then begin to stare._

_*_

_I'm dreaming._ Yaz thinks, _I have to be dreaming. I was there, that's me—_

_But it's as if she’s watching herself , a silent omniscient onlooker, and before she can consider this further the memories shift, and now they're not hers at all._

_*_

_The Doctor slams the door shut and sags against it, all pretense of lightheartedness gone. She lets her eyes slide shut for a moment, slowly, and then gives herself a good shake and jumps to her feet._

_“Right,” she growls, and crosses to the console. Mechanically she begins to flip switches and punch in numbers, her brow joined together in pensive thought. As she throws the final lever to send the TARDIS into flight, she simply grips the console and tightens her stance, eschewing her normal theatricality. In fact, none of her quirky mannerisms—her affected cockiness, her flair for showmanship—are on display. The Doctor usually parades around like she owns the place, no matter where she is. Now, in the TARDIS, her home, she doesn't throw herself around like she always does. She simply steers._

_The TARDIS heaves to a halt and the Doctor leans forward and taps a screen. “Floating, and still no sign. That's good.”_

_Then she straightens up and looks fully at the console, at the room. “Right. It's been a while. How do I do this again?”_

_The TARDIS responds with a series of negative beeps and Yaz actually_ feels _them reverberating through herself. It’s as if they’re coming from her, but she doesn’t exist; she’s not even there._

_The Doctor just frowns. “Oh, none of that from you! As if we've got a better option—”_

_Her voices lowers to a grumble as she ducks under the console. It sounds distinctly as if she's rooting around for something, and as she searches snatches of sentences rise through the clinks and bangs._

_“No reason why it won't work anyways—”_

_“…safer in Sheffield anyways, can't be like last time, poor Martha—”_

_“Nothing to give me away, just need to check for latent psychic abilities in the area—”_

_The mumbling dies off into a yell of success and the Doctor suddenly stands, head appearing above the console once more, followed by a torso and two hands which hold a strange, three-pronged headgear._

_“My Chameleon Arch!” she crows, and places it lopsided across a keyboard. Several thick cables poke out of the top of it, trailing off and disappearing underneath the console, from the place which the Doctor pulled it from. She shuffles it about, apparently checking its condition, and then with one hand reaches into her pocket and pulls out something small—a pocket watch. Leaving the headgear to tilt hazardously on the uneven console, she uses both hands to wire the watch into a cavity which Yaz has never noticed before._

_Come to think of it, she’s never noticed that headgear lying around under the console either, but she can sense with that unspeakable knowing that comes with dreams that these things don’t matter, nor does it matter that she is not present in this dream at all, only watching, though not from any particular vantage point. It’s as if she is the room, and as soon as this occurs to her Yaz realizes that the memory the TARDIS is feeding her might actually be her own._

_“Right,” the Doctor mutters, and turns her attention back to the headgear. She’s typing, coding in some sort of information with an urgency that implies time is running out—but then, she’s in a time machine. “Right. Got it. You’ll have to make it random, no time to choose, and ooh, bonus—harder for them to track.”_

_She lifts up the headgear with an odd sense of finality, and places it on her head, then grimaces as it drops low over her brow. “Ugh, too big. This body—”_

_She adjusts something to the side, shoves the prongs inwards until they’re clamped more or less firmly to her head, and stands up straight. “Okay. We ready?”_

_Another series of beeps emanates from the console, and Yaz feels the TARDIS’s reluctance as if it were her own—and then too, a part of Yaz’s own brain wants to scream “Doctor, what are you doing??” There’s a sense of unease lingering in the air, and she can’t tell if it’s hers or the ships._

_“Hey, hey now.” the Doctor pats the console reassuringly. Her expression is kind, almost tender. “We’ll be fine, see? It’s only a few months anyway, and they looked a little worse for wear, this time. A few months, that’s all, and they’ll lose the scent.”_

_There’s a long pause, and then the console slowly lights up, its machinery whirring. Yaz feels the TARDIS’ apprehensive agreement, and then too feels something more; another consciousness alongside her own, vast and brilliant and very, very familiar—_

_Yaz has only a split second to realize that it’s the Doctor, she’s hooked herself up to the TARDIS for reasons Yaz still doesn’t understand, and then the Doctor reaches out and flips a switch and there’s an eternity of pain all in one moment, Yaz can hear the Doctor screaming, can feel her screaming, and she thinks she’s about to scream too before it all goes black._

————

Yaz jerked back to consciousness, and for one disorienting moment had no idea where she was. She was still in her police uniform, but was lying crumpled up against something big, with her hand stretched out at an odd angle. Something was pressing uncomfortably into her cheek, and she raised her head to move away from whatever was sticking into her face, only to realize that it was a switch, and the thing she was lying against was the TARDIS console.

Immediately all that happened came flooding back to her, and Yaz gasped, yanking her hand instinctively away from where it had been glued to the console. It came easily, unlike before, and she cradled it close to examine, expecting some sort of redness or burned skin. There was nothing.

“You—” outrage came first. Yaz glared up at the console. “Thanks for the warning! What was all that?”

The TARDIS made no sound, but in the silence sat a heavy sense of impatience which Yaz felt as clearly as she might’v felt a breeze on the back of her neck.

“Hang on—” still cradling her hand, despite its lack of injury, she pulled herself to her feet, wincing at the pins and needles which shot through her legs. How long had she been lying there? “Those scenes—they were memories, weren’t they? I remember the first one happening, but the second one…you showed me that, didn’t you? It was yours.”

Again, the TARDIS didn’t speak, but Yaz felt her agreement thrumming through the room. She couldn’t remember ever being quite so aware of the TARDIS as she was at that moment, couldn’t remember ever sensing the barest indication that she was alive, or even had some sort of consciousness…but then again, she had never gone and done a telepathic mind meld with the ship before either.

At least, Yaz thought that was what happened. The whole experience had turned her head fuzzy, and she could still feel the grogginess knocking about her head, making her slow. The TARDIS’s memories were growing fuzzy too, and she grasped at them desperately, because there was something incredibly important, something she knew—

“The last one,” she gasped. She looked up at the TARDIS, and she could tell it had been waiting for her to understand, that this was the whole reason she’d been led to the console, to those memories in the first place. “The Doctor hurt herself. Why would she do that? What was she trying to do?”

The TARDIS didn’t answer, but at the same time, Yaz could tell that she knew exactly what was going on in those last few seconds.

“You have to tell me,” she demanded. “I can tell you know! You connected us, remember?”

The TARDIS still didn’t answer, but this time Yaz felt a sense of frustration fill the room, and in her own mind, the thought— _you won’t understand it,_ appeared, but Yaz could’ve sworn it hadn’t been her thinking it.

“Okay,” she allowed, despite the mirrored frustration rising in her own chest. “Fine. But show me! She said—” and she grasped for the word the Doctor had said, why were the memories fading so fast? “Chameleon Arch, she called it! Isn’t that what she used?”

She felt the TARDIS’s agreement again, and along with it something else; that she would forget soon, she seemed to be saying, that Yaz was only an ordinary human and not equipped to maintain a psychic bond for so long, the memories would fade, they already were—

“Okay, okay, I get it!” Yaz growled. “But just show me one more, show me where she is! You want us to help her, yeah? So _show_ me—”

She didn’t get to finish her sentence before what felt like a psychic vice grabbed her head and refused to let go. In an instant Yaz found herself locked in place, unable to move as the TARDIS shoved into her head a dozen urgent thoughts and impressions, all jumbled together:

_She couldn’t show her more because there was nothing to show, the TARDIS had landed and the Doctor had left, and qerngfqepjwi;sfnenwqnfknnandfksfkj the psychic bond she’d opened was fading, it had to fade because her tiny overworked human brain couldn’t take it, too many neural pathways opened at once, there was only so much she could show her but she had to get the others she had to come back she had to help the Doctor the Doctor was in trouble the Doctor was ine trouel;e the Docotrjwejkeqwmnqkj;fke_

Her thoughts—the TARDIS’s thoughts—faded into gibberish and for a short terrifying moment Yaz felt her whole mind go the same way, her brain fritzing like a circuit about to blow, and then the TARDIS released its grip on her and she stumbled back with the taste of bile in her mouth. She caught herself against one of the sculpted pillars and clung to it, dry-heaving.

“Okay,” she panted after a few moments, and straightened up. “Okay, I’ve got it, I understand.”

There was no answer. Yaz turned toward the console, and noticed that her police hat had apparently fallen to the floor. She couldn’t recall when it had happened, but she bent down and scooped it up, tucking it under her arm. Then she tried again. “I’m going to get Ryan and Graham, and I’ll be back as fast as I can. You’ll take us to her, won’t you? You have to.”

Again, there was no answer, not in her head, and not hanging in the air around her. There was only silence. 

_I can’t hear her._ Yaz she squeezed her eyes shut, groping for the stream of thoughts the TARDIS had pushed into her head, but found that they were already fading as well. The meaning was there, but the distinct images, the words, were growing fuzzier with each passing moment.

“We’re not connected anymore,” Yaz said aloud, and there was no reaction, no responding thought. The TARDIS might have been screaming at her for all she knew, and all she could hear was the uneasy quiet of an empty console room. 

But even if they were no longer connected, and even if Yaz couldn’t grasp the specifics of all that the TARDIS had told her, the central message revolved in her head, flashing like a neon sign.

_The Doctor needs help. The Doctor needs help._

“I’ll come back,” Yaz promised to the empty room. She didn’t wait for an answer but turned and practically fell through the doors and out onto the empty sidewalk. The door had scarcely closed behind her before she was dialing Ryan’s number and putting the phone to her ear.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally Team TARDIS is back together--almost.

In retrospect, she probably should have waited a few seconds to calm down before trying to make a phone call.

She had to give credit to Ryan though, for his reaction to _‘you have to come it’s the TARDIS it’s the Doctor but it’s not actually her the TARDIS showed me no SHOWED me she’s in trouble no I don’t know where no I can’t ask her she’s gone now no from my head not GONE gone nevermind I’ll explain it all just get Graham and come as fast as you can’_ was to simply answer in the affirmative and hang up, following a few minutes later with _i just told graham. be there in 10._

Yaz stared at her phone, stared at the message, and then shut it off and let out a deep breath. Her eyes fluttered shut, and in the silence of the wet, quickly-falling dusk, she could hear her heart racing.

The Doctor was in trouble, which was objectively not good. But at the same time, this was more than she could have ever hoped for. Because, though she was loathe to admit such a thing now that the TARDIS was _really there sitting right behind her,_ a large part of Yaz had sort of assumed the Doctor had just forgotten about them. Or that they had failed her on that last outing, when she’d dumped them off in Sheffield without a word or even indication that they would meet in the future. She’d seemed almost…mad at them, which didn’t make sense at the time. But then, the whole situation hadn’t made sense. 

Several times over the past month, Yaz had wondered if that was just the Doctor’s way of ending things. She thought she knew her, had known her, but had she really? Could Yaz, a twenty year old human, ever fully understand a literal _time-traveling alien,_ or had she just been tricking herself into thinking she’d had the Doctor figured out?

But no; she’d been wrong, and right at the same time. The Doctor hadn’t decided to abandon them, as Yaz had feared. She was just stuck in a tight spot, and needed her friends to pull her out of it. And that was one thing her, Ryan, and Graham would always be able to do.

Yaz smiled, and opened her eyes. Whatever trouble the Doctor was caught in, they would get her out of it, no explanations needed (or maybe, just a teensy bit of explanation), and then probably jaunt off somewhere to have tea. Somewhere properly alien, and nowhere close to boring old Sheffield.

But first, Yaz had—she glanced at her wristwatch—nine minutes to get changed into something suitable for adventuring.

———

It ended up taking eight minutes, and she left her uniform strewn about her room to rush out of her flat and down the to the TARDIS when she got Ryan’s arrival text: _we found the tardis! where r u??_

“I’m here,” she called, and nearly smacked into Graham as she rounded the corner. “Oh—sorry Graham.”

“No need.” Graham grinned at her. He was leaning against the TARDIS with his arms crossed, the picture of patience, if not for the open giddiness in his expression. “Ryan got the message to me, more or less. So she’s back then? Got her dates mixed up I suppose?”

“No, that’s not—” Yaz stopped, and looked around. “Hang on a sec, where is he?”

“Oh, he went on in to say hello. Told him I’d wait outside so you’d know we’re here.” His gaze slid to the TARDIS, and he straightened up, reaching out to give the wood a fond rap with his knuckles. “Looks a bit beat up though, doesn’t it?”

“She,” Yaz said without thinking. “But wait, that’s not exactly it, I need to explain something to you and Ryan—”

Graham turned back to her, confused, but before he could say anything the door rattled open. Ryan stuck his head out, and swung his head around before his gaze found Yaz. “Gra—oh, Yaz! Thank god you’re here. The Doctor’s gone, I can’t find her anywhere.”

“What?” Graham exclaimed. He turned to Ryan, who just shook his head. Graham frowned, lines of worry crinkling his forehead. “You mean she’s not even here? Then how did her ship—”

He shouldered past Ryan and into the TARDIS, his voice trailing off as he disappeared deeper inside. Ryan and Yaz exchanged a glance, but before Yaz could ask him just what he’d gotten from her phone call Ryan turned and disappeared into the ship as well. “Wait, Grandad—” 

Yaz hurriedly stepped inside, making sure to close the door behind her. “Ryan, Graham, wait! I have to explain something—”

Her voice drew them back into the console room and they appeared wearing twin expressions of worry. “Yaz, what on earth—”

“I thought you talked to her—”

“Do you think she’s gone off—”

“I don’t know!” Yaz exclaimed, unable to keep the frustration out of her voice. Now that she was back in the TARDIS, and despite the ship’s silence, she could feel the ship’s urgency weighing down on her. “That’s what I _told_ Ryan on the phone, I just got here and found the TARDIS and when I came inside it was empty. The Doctor’s gone, and I think she’s in trouble, that’s why I called you.”

Graham turned to look at Ryan, who immediately shot up his hands in defense. “Hey to be fair, how the hell was I supposed to get that from what you told me? Half of it didn’t make sense and I swear you said you talked to the Doctor.”

“No, I talked to the TARDIS,” she corrected him. This only served to deepen their confusion on their faces. Quickly, she backtracked. “What I mean is, I came inside the TARDIS and I searched for the Doctor just like you did, and when I couldn’t find her the TARDIS sort of…mind melded with me to let me know what happened. And then she told me that she’s in trouble, and needs our help.”

They stared at her. Ryan recovered first. “The TARDIS _mind melded_ with you—?”

Graham held out a hand to stop him. “Wait, let’s get back to that. My question is, so what happened? Where’d she go off to?”

“I don’t know.” Yaz cringed at her own answer. She could tell how it sounded by the looks on their faces, and jumped to continue before either could point out the obvious flaws in her explanation. “What I mean is, she didn’t show me all that much. She just sort of, made me put my hand to the console and then I passed out—”

“You passed out?” Ryan had the good grace to look worried.

“Yeah, but let me finish! And she showed me a bunch of images, and then I woke up and she showed me some more stuff, and it wasn’t very clear but I sort of got the picture that the Doctor’s in trouble and we’ve got to help her, only I don’t know exactly where she is. And neither does the TARDIS, but I think she can take us there. Maybe.”

“Right…” said Graham slowly. “Listen, I believe you, and trust me when I say I want to help the Doctor, but how we supposed to do that? I mean, if we don’t know where she is—”

“And neither does the TARDIS,” Ryan added. “So what are we supposed to do? Can you ask her again Yaz? Get some clearer instructions?”

Yaz shook her head. “I can’t hear her anymore. It’s like—what did she say?” she screwed up her face, trying to recall the faded images the TARDIS had shown her. “Ugh, it’s so frustrating! I think she told me that she made some sort of psychic connection between us, but it would go away pretty quickly because my tiny human brain couldn’t handle it so long. Something like that.”

“So—what?” Ryan asked. “Now you just can’t hear her anymore?”

Yaz nodded, and cast him a grateful look. Trust Ryan not to argue her—admittedly shaky—story, but jump straight to belief. He was a proper friend like that. She watched him take in a deep breath, and raise his gaze to the ceiling far above. When he lowered his eyes back to her and spoke, it was without a trace of doubt or lack of conviction.

“Right,” he said calmly. “So what did she tell you then?”

“Yeah, and how can we help?” Graham jumped in. “I mean I’ve got no idea how any of this makes sense, but that’s right and proper for us innit? Gotta say, I’ve rather missed it too.”

Yaz smiled at them. Now this was exactly what she’d been dreaming of the past four weeks, minus the Doctor’s unfortunate absence. But that would be okay—they were going to find her. Right now, standing around the console with Ryan and Graham, it felt like they were back as team TARDIS, ready to take on the universe. It felt like right where she belonged.

“I’ll tell you,” she began and started in on a short explanation of all she could remember from her dreams—or were they memories? They certainly acted like dreams, some details returning vividly as she talked while others floated vaguely just out of reach, but she was sure they had happened. Of everything the TARDIS had shown to her, she had made that part crystal clear. Whatever the Doctor had done to herself, it was real.

“So she used a—a chameleon thing?” Graham asked once she’d finished. “What do you think that does then?”

“Arch, I think,” Yaz answered. “Chameleon Arch. And no idea. Soon as she started it, I woke up.”

Well, almost as soon as it’d started. Yaz suppressed a shudder as she recalled those screams. She’d never heard the Doctor in such pain before. And she had _felt_ it too, though she wasn’t sure how that was possible. Had the TARDIS felt it too when it happened?

“Okay,” Ryan nodded at her correction. “Chameleon Arch. Still don’t get why she would do that to herself, but maybe it’s supposed to be like a camouflage thing? Chameleons change their color, don’t they?”

“They do, I saw a documentary ‘bout it once.” Graham frowned. “But still, that doesn’t answer our main question, does it? Which is how in the blazing hell are we gonna get to her? She could literally be anywhere.”

“I know.” Yaz groaned, and ran a frustrated hand through her hair. “The TARDIS didn’t tell me anything about that! Just—well, to go pick up you guys. Beyond that, I’ve got no idea.”

“Maybe if we ask her.” Ryan stepped closer to the console and knocked on one of the panels. “Hello, TARDIS! Can you tell us how to get to the Doctor or are we just gonna wait here and—”

A loud click that echoed throughout the room. Ryan stopped talking. A second later there was the sound of a lock turning into place. They looked at each other, baffled, and then Graham pointed behind Yaz. “It sounded like it came from there, no?”

Yaz whirled around to the doors—the doors she recalled closing behind her, but not locking. In a few steps she bounded over to try the handle. It didn’t budge.

“It’s locked,” she announced grimly, and turned back to the others. “Guess that answers that question, then.”

Ryan looked at her, and then at Graham, who just gave him a bewildered shrug. The closest to the console, his hand instinctively crept out to find some purchase. “You really think the TARDIS can just pilot itse—”

In retrospect, Yaz should have taken Ryan’s example and found something to hold onto, because just before he managed to finish his sentence the entire room tilted steeply to one side, then just as quickly to the other. She caught sight of Graham falling against a white pillar, before she slipped and nearly fell herself, saved only by a last minute grab onto the door handle. The familiar wheezing started up, a sound that would have caused excitement to bubble up in Yaz’s chest, if it weren’t for the way the entire room was pitching, tossing her passengers violently from one side to the other. The movement recalled the Doctor’s steering, except for the utter lack of control in the way the room oscillated—whereas the Doctor managed to keep the TARDIS right-side up, Yaz thought dizzily, she wouldn’t be surprised if they all ended up on the ceiling upon landing.

And then just as suddenly the lurching ceased, to be replaced by the nauseous sensation of hurtling madly through the air. Yaz clung to the door handle and prayed that the lock was perfectly fine, that the doors wouldn’t somehow open mid-flight. A small part of her mind wondered if this was what it always felt like to fly in the TARDIS on autopilot. If it was, she would never insult the Doctor’s steering again.

“I think I’m going to be sick!” Graham called out, voice hoarse. 

“Oh no you don’t, it’ll get everywhere in here!” Ryan yelled back at him, his voice just as strained. Unable to add anything for lack of wind, Yaz, just closed her eyes and prayed Graham would hold onto his stomach for however long it took them to land.

And it seemed like forever, though in reality it couldn’t have been much longer than the time it usually took the Doctor to take them somewhere. This time however, the TARDIS thumped to a halt with such violence that it wrenched Yaz free of the door and sent her sprawling several meters across the floor. She landed with a _thud_ that knocked all the air out of her lungs, and for a few moments just laid there, trying to breath despite the ache over her entire body.

“Ow…” she groaned, and heard accompanying moans from Ryan and Graham. Slowly, she pulled herself gingerly to her feet and cradled her head, trying the room from spinning. “That… _really_ hurt.”

Ryan was already climbing to his feet. He winced as he took a deep breath. “Now I see why the Doctor gets offended when we laugh at her steering.”

“I’m never laughing at her again,” Graham grumbled from where he sat half on the floor, half against a white pillar, practically clinging to it as if he expected any moment for the TARDIS to take off again. “Bloody awful, that’s what that was. I don’t even like roller coasters, you know.”

“Me neither.” Ryan leaned against the console. “Guess we’ve arrived then?”

“God I hope so,” Yaz answered. “I don’t think I could go through that again.”

As if to answer their question, a familiar click echoed throughout the room. They froze, all three of them. Then, slowly, three pairs of eyes turned to face the door.

“It must be open,” Ryan said in a hushed voice. A quiet had fallen over all of them, a sudden apprehension at what might be lying on the opposite side of those wooden doors. 

Graham broke the silence. “You don’t think the TARDIS would intentionally bring us somewhere we couldn’t survive, would she?”

Yaz gulped. “Um, she seemed to know my—my brain limitations pretty well, so probably she’d take oxygen and things into consideration too…I think.”

Her eyes were fixed on the TARDIS doors, only a couple meters away from her. Two steps, and she could swing them open and set outside. Two steps between her and wherever the Doctor would be. So why was she so afraid?

Well, lack of a breathable atmosphere was one good reason. Potential hostile aliens was another.

“I think we should just trust in the TARDIS,” she decided aloud, and turned back to face the other two. “When she was in my head, I got the impression she knew more or less what she was doing. Anyway, unless we go out and find the Doctor, I don’t know how we’re supposed to get home.”

Ryan thought this over and signaled his agreement with a shrug. “Good point. There’s no way I’m returning the way we came.”

Graham shuddered. “Yes, please. Let’s get the Doc back in one piece, and then we’ll trust her to take us home.”

“’Kay.” Yaz swallowed only somewhat nervously, and turned towards the doors, still standing unlocked and expectant. “Let’s all go together then, yeah?”

“We’re with you,” Ryan answered, and she heard an accompanying _thud_ as he jumped down from the ledge the console sat on to come up behind her. “Graham, you need some help back there?”

“Just give me a second.” Graham’s voice came back disgruntled, and Yaz glanced behind her to watch him lower himself gently from the console level, wincing every so often. “I’m not old enough to need help, but I can’t say that little trip did me any good on the joints, if you know what I mean.”

But even with his slow, cautious movements, it only took him a few moments to join the other two by the door. They stood grouped haphazardly into a triangle, with Yaz at the point. When nobody moved, Ryan gave her a gentle push. “Well, go on then.”

“Very funny, Ryan.” She scowled at him, to which he replied by sticking out his tongue. “How about you take the lead?”

“I’d be honored,” he answered with a mock tip of a hypothetical hat. She didn’t expect him to actually take her seriously, had actually been fortifying herself to take the lead, but then, before she could react, he took a deep breath and brushed past her, opening the door.

Immediately sunlight streamed into the TARDIS—the familiar kind, yellow and warm, and that was enough to assuage their fears. Ryan stuck his head out and Yaz and Graham crowded behind him, craning to catch a glimpse of whatever world was awaiting them, and then their collective forward momentum sent them all tumbling out together.

They stumbled out into a dusty, unpaved road, which cut its way through two parallel rows of one-story buildings. Yaz was the last one out, and instinctively turned back, just to see where the TARDIS had parked herself. She realized fondly that she had done the smart thing, wedging herself tightly between two small buildings, just far enough back to not be immediately noticeable from the street.

A cough from Graham drew her attention back to the road. He and Ryan had already stepped fully out onto the street, without heed to passing cars—because, she realized with a quick glance around, there weren’t any. One look was enough to confirm her suspicion; wherever they were in the universe, it was not the twenty-first century. Unless of course they were stuck on some kind of tourist planet attempting to ape vintage earth. It seemed unlikely, but with all of their travels, she had learned not to rule things out.

“Look.” Ryan pointed down the street. “Isn’t that Dutch?”

They followed his gaze to a sign hanging over what appeared to be a closed storefront, which read _Jan se Lekkers._

“Don’t think so.” Graham frowned. “That’s Afrikaans, isn’t it? Met a bloke from South Africa once. Nice guy. Even taught me a few words.”

“Did he teach you any swears?”

“Actually—”

“Guys,” Yaz scolded. “We’re wasting time.”

She brushed past them, and stepped out farther onto the street to squint down the road, hugging her chest against a nonexistent chill. There was something off about the town, something _wrong_ —only she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. And how were they supposed to find out what year it was? There were no cars, but the buildings looked modern enough to pass for the twentieth century—or maybe nineteenth? Maybe they could find somebody to ask—

And then the realization hit, just as Ryan sidled up beside her.

“Did you notice—” His voice was hushed, a sentiment she understood. “—that there aren’t any people about?”

“And it looks to be about noon.” Graham joined the two, standing in the middle of the road. They probably looked conspicuous, Yaz suddenly realized, gawking about like tourists. “And did you two take a look at the building behind us?”

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, and Ryan and Yaz turned to see what he was talking about. As soon as they saw it, Yaz’s stomach sank.

The building to the left of the TARDIS sat with an enormous chunk taken out of the roof, leaving no more than a gaping hole that peered into an empty room. The whole building looked empty, actually, and Yaz could understand why; she doubted she’d be so keen to stay in a house that drew a target for artillery fire.

Ryan moaned quietly. “Why does it have to be a war zone? She couldn’t of gotten herself trapped at a spa?”

“I don’t think the Doctor really does spas,” Graham replied.

“Oh, she totally does,” Yaz said, her eyes still trapped on the wrecked building in front of her. “Only it would have to be haunted, with a great big mystery surrounding it.”

Ryan snorted and looked away, and then hurriedly leaned forward to tap Yaz on the shoulder. “Hey, look—there’s someone down there!”

Yaz and Graham looked to where he was pointing, and sure enough—a boy, who didn’t appear older than thirteen, was making his way down the street, skipping steps and swinging a long, thin object as he went. As he moved closer the thin object proved itself to be a stick, and as they watched he used it to send a rock skittering down the street.

“Think we should talk to him?” Graham spoke first.

“Dunno—what if he doesn’t like us?” Ryan said. “He might be suspicious of three strangers appearing randomly on his street.”

“Well we’ve got to figure out where we are _somehow,_ ” Yaz pointed out. “Maybe he can tell us what year it is.”

Ryan gave her a dubious look, and she shrugged. “It might be a risk, but how else are we going to find the Doctor? We can’t just stand here gaping at buildings all day.”

She didn’t mean to put a bit of impatience in her voice, but she could hear it slipping through anyway. She couldn’t help it; the ruined building was sticking in her mind, and the lack of people milling about seemed to be sending them a warning: _There is danger here. Tread carefully._

And if the Doctor was caught somewhere in a war zone, possibly trapped or even wounded, then Yaz had to find her. The alternative filled her with dread.

But Ryan nodded, and in his eyes she saw that he understood her impatience, her fear. Without the Doctor to guide them they were like children, taking tentative steps into new territory they would have strode through once without a second thought. It was rational caution, true, but it made them slow. 

The boy was almost level with them now but paid them no mind, too busy with with his game of hitting rocks down the street. Yaz stepped directly in his path, forcing him to stop. When he looked up in surprise she said, “Hey—are you from this town?”

Immediately his expression closed off, his eyes shuttering with suspicion. “Yeah. Who are you?”

“We’re—” Yaz cast her gaze desperately to Ryan and Graham, who only gave minuscule shakes of their heads. “—travelers. We’re travelers, and we’ve gotten a little lost, and um, we were wondering if you’d give us directions.”

The boy surveyed her, his gaze guarded. His eyes darted over to Ryan and Graham, and then he let out a short, unexpected laugh. There was something mean about it, as if he were laughing at something they didn’t know. “I’d say you’re lost. You’re British, aren’t you?”

Yaz nodded eagerly, as did Ryan and Graham. “Yeah, we are. Actually, we were trying to find another—”

But the boy just laughed again—that same harsh sound, with no trace of humor in it. He raised his stick and pointed it back to the direction from which he’d come. “You’re definitely in the wrong place. Your people passed through a couple hours ago, they’re probably routing the next town by now.” 

His lip curled as he uttered the last words, and despite his hostility, Yaz felt a rush of sympathy for him. A part of her wondered resignedly which ill-begotten colonial dispute of the British Empire they’d happened to fall into this time.

“What, they didn’t leave behind anybody to take care of the town?” Graham cut in, and then backtracked as the boy threw him a dirty look. “Ah, I mean they didn’t leave any guards behind to hold the place? Skeleton crew or something?”

The boy shrugged, and swung his stick down again, letting the end hit the dirt road with a _whumph._ A small cloud of dust rose from where it hit. “They left plenty behind. That way,” he pointed down the street, to the direction he’d been walking, “is where they took the wounded. Probably back to Kroonstad. It’s pretty far from here, though.”

“That’s fine actually, that’s great. And thank you,” she added. He just gave her a dubious look, and then shrugged and stepped around her to continue making his way down the street, the soft sound of his footfalls punctuated by the occasional skittering of a rock being sent down the road.

Yaz turned back to Ryan and Graham, who returned her ‘slightly-at-a-loss’ expression. She opened her mouth, and was about to suggest that they move in the opposite of wherever the front line happened to be, when—

“Oh, hey! Hey kid!” she spun around, shouting at his retreating form. He paused, and half-turned. “Can you tell us what year it is?”

That was enough to make him fully turn to give her a confused look. “Year?”

“Yeah, year!” she tapped the side of her head. “Bit of sun-sickness, you know. Don’t know where I am.”

“Year’s 1900,” he replied. She pretended to nod in sudden understanding, and he gave a long stare. “Oh, right, right—thanks. Silly me.”

Then she turned immediately back to Ryan and Graham, who were looking at her with varying levels of bemusement.

“Very sneaky,” Ryan told her. “Very smooth.”

“Next time you can ask!” she hissed at him. “Anyways, 1900. What war was that? Something in Africa, right?”

“South Africa,” Graham answered. He looked rather grim at the revelation. “The Second Boer war. Pretty nasty one too, I think. Don’t remember much though—school was a long time ago for me, I’m afraid.”

“I remember,” Ryan said, and wrinkled his nose. “Ugh, I hated that unit. Boring war, nothing happened. Just lots of disease, I think.”

“Well that’s nice to hear,” Graham grumbled. “Lots of disease. Maybe that’s the Doctor’s problem, she’s stuck somewhere in the jungle with the plague. Oh and I don’t know about you two, but I reckon we shouldn’t be moving towards the front line. That sounds like a good way to get killed.”

“Me too,” Yaz said, with just a bit of relief. She didn’t at all like the idea of heading toward the front line, though a small part of her wondered if not doing so would just drag them farther away from the Doctor. After all, if there was any place she was likely to be found, it would be in the thick of it. “Though you don’t think—”

“Oh no,” Ryan responded. “Nope. I know that face. And I know what you’re about to say. And no. No front lines.”

Yaz frowned, slightly offended. “But—”

“Now wait,” Graham hastily interjected. “I'm with Ryan.Let’s listen to reason for a second. We don’t have weapons, and even if they handed me a whatever-the-hell-sort-of-rifle they have ‘round these parts, I’d have no idea how to shoot it. I say we head the other way, to that city the lad was talking about. We can sniff around, ask anybody if they’ve seen a crazy British lady in a long coat.”

“Yeah, I like that idea,” Ryan agreed quickly. “Anyway Yaz, you can’t do that to Graham, it wouldn’t be right. He’s a Grandad, you can’t put him on the front lines."

“Now, hold on—”

“Okay, point taken!” Despite her losing argument, Yaz found herself smiling. “Fair point, we’ll check out the big city. But, that kid also said it was far away. If we go, I say we go now.”

They all glanced together at the sun, which was still shining high. Ryan put his hand up to block the glare, and tried to estimate the time. 

“It’s…one-thirty? Maybe two. I agree with Yaz, let’s get going. And besides, he said they were taking the wounded back this way. Maybe we’ll catch up, and we can ask around.”

Yaz nodded in agreement, but didn’t immediately mention her obvious concern. Still, when Ryan lowered his hand, she could see it written in his face as well, along with Graham’s. They all glanced back at the TARDIS, wedged carefully between the two buildings. The front side was slowly becoming obscured by the mid-afternoon shadows that were beginning to stretch across the street.

“We’ll come back to it,” she tried, aiming for the kind of reassurance she was supposed to be good at as a PC. It was hard when she was feeling the exact same fear as they were. “We’ll have the Doctor to help us, anyway. Besides, if the TARDIS could find us in Sheffield, she can probably find us in—in Kroonstad, right?”

None of them tore their gazes from the TARDIS. “I sure hope you’re right,” Ryan muttered. “If not, we’ll have a fun time learning Afrikaans.”

He turned away, squinting in the direction they were meant to go, and after a moment Graham followed him. Yaz waited for another second as they went by, and gave one last glance at the TARDIS. Then she spun on her heel with more confidence than she felt, and started after them down the long dusty road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jan se lekkers is Afrikaans for Jan's sweets. This is thanks to google translate, as I unfortunately do not know Afrikaans myself.  
> Also I left the timing other than the year intentionally vague, but spring/summer 1900 is about the time the British started turning the tide of the war in their favor. For a large part of the year, they turned back the Boers and seemed to be on their way to beating them. In fact, from what I've read, there was somewhat of a comparable attitude to the start of WWI, whereas the British assumed their war would be over very quickly.  
> What they underestimated was the Boers' home field advantage and determination to dig in and conduct geurilla warfare for the next two years or so. The British ended up winning only because they rounded up civilians and put them in concentration camps, ostensibly for their safety. Many of them died of disease, particularly children, and this effectively forced the Boers to surrender.  
> In case you wanted a short history lesson along with your riddled-with-inaccuracies DW fanfiction!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyy it's action time

As it turned out, the boy had not quite spoken true about the distance. Within only twenty minutes of walking, they came upon a sign that read _Kroonstad, 7 kilometers._

“That’s not too bad,” Ryan observed. “Say it takes ten minutes to walk one kilometer—what’d you think, two hours? One and a half?”

“Two hours,” Graham said, at the same time as Yaz answered “One and a half.” 

They exchanged a glance, and then Graham gave a sigh of defeat. “No pity for the old and weak, eh?”

“You’re not that old,” Ryan said, and made a point of ignoring the face Graham made towards him. Yaz just laughed, and shook her head.

The rows of houses began to dwindle away, and after thirty minutes the street they were on widened out into a proper road, which tapered off on both sides into vast fields, empty except for the occasional tree dotting the landscape. The weather was warm, but surprisingly temperate, and Yaz tried to guess what month they were in until she remembered that it was supposed to be opposite under the equator, and gave up. They kept walking, sending up puffs of dusts with their shoes, and fell into a comfortable silence. There was something eerie about the quiet along the road, though Yaz couldn’t figure out if it was meant to be that way. Perhaps there never were people along this road anyway. Or perhaps the war had sent them running.

The road began to twist and the fields began to dip and rise into slight hills. A breeze blew past them, sending an acrid smell that made them all wrinkle their noses.

“What was that?” Ryan asked, just as Graham pointed ahead.

“Look over there.” 

A form was slumped over by the roadside, and as they grew closer, it proved to be a man. Or rather, the body of one, for he didn’t move, even when they came within a few meters of him, and once they got close they saw that he was covered in flies, which buzzed about him in a way that made Yaz rather nauseous.

She covered her mouth as they approached, for at this range the smell was nearly unbearable, and then Ryan said, “Look—he was a soldier.”

They followed his gaze and saw that he was right, for underneath the cloud of flies the man was dressed in a beige uniform, though he had no rifle in hand. Yaz pushed away the sick feeling in her stomach. “Hang on—that means he has to be British, right? I remember the Boers didn’t wear uniforms, they used guerilla tactics.”

“Sounds about right.” Ryan edged closer, hand clasped tightly over his mouth and nose, as he tried to get a better look. “I remember that too.”

“Best not to get too close, son,” Graham warned him. “He’s probably full of disease, and I wouldn’t want to be testing the antibiotics in 1900.”

“Right,” Ryan muttered and stepped back, though they all gave the body one last, uneasy look before moving off down the road. 

He turned out to be only the first of many. After a few more minutes of walking they passed another body lying by the road, and then a minute later two more. The smell grew steadily stronger as they continued, and then without warning Yaz stopped and called out, “Do you two hear that?”

They stopped too, and listened. The road curved and twisted ahead of them, rising slightly so as to obscure whatever lay a few hundred yards beyond, but the wind carried sounds from ahead. Yells floated back towards them, and groans, and as they took a few more tentative steps forward, the dull sounds of footsteps reached their ears as well.

They exchanged a glance. “What do you think, the wounded?” Graham asked.

“I think so, yeah,” Yaz answered. They were still walking, but slower now than before, as if reluctant to let their footsteps carry them over the rise. “That’s probably good for us though, right? They’ll hear our accents, and we can make up some story.”

“Oh, really?” Ryan’s voice was edged with disbelief. “What story do you think they’ll believe? That we’re three lost travelers from England who just decided to vacation in a war zone?”

Yaz frowned. “Okay, fair point. Maybe we can tell them we’re volunteers?”

“Actually—” Graham began, but whatever he was about to say was cut off by a shout from ahead.

“Stop, travelers!” 

They froze, and looked up the hill, straight into the rifle barrels of three soldiers, who seemed to have risen straight up from the grass without their noticing. 

“In hindsight, probably not the best idea to walk straight up the road,” Yaz whispered out of the corner of her mouth, as she slowly raised her hands above her head. Ryan and Graham did the same, and she prayed that their preemptory sign of surrender would save them from being shot.

“Don’t move!” the soldiers kept their rifles trained on them as they moved quickly down the road. Once they were well within speaking distance the lead man lowered his gun only slightly, while the other two spread out to flank their little group. 

The lead soldier—clearly the one in charge—spoke first. “All civilians in this area are meant to be evacuated. What is your business here?”

Yaz opened her mouth to speak, but to her surprise, Graham beat her.

“Well actually, we’ve come to find you all,” he said. Yaz practically gaped in confusion. She turned her head ever so slightly, caught Ryan’s baffled expression mirroring hers, and might have said something if it weren’t for the rifle barrel currently staring her down. Instead, she decided to shut up and pray Graham knew what he was doing.

“Come to find us?” the soldier’s surprise was so evident that Yaz actually saw his rifle barrel drop a few millimeters. It lasted only a second, however and then he jerked his gun back up, his voice hardening once more. “We’ve had a lot of trouble with spies and saboteurs, so you’ll excuse me if I don’t take that seriously. Though I have to say, most saboteurs are better at sneaking around than you lot. We saw you coming two kilometers out.”

“It’s just as I said,” Graham answered in a surprisingly placating tone. “We’ve been looking for you all. I’m afraid though, that we got a bit turned around. I actually have something that will explain—”

He lowered his hand to reach into his pocket, and that was his mistake. All three soldiers flinched, and their questioner’s finger squeezed the trigger. “Don’t—!” he cried, and Graham froze with his hand halfway to his pocket. Slowly, he returned his hand above his head, and said, “My apologies. I didn’t mean to mislead you.”

“Like I said, we’ve had a lot of saboteurs,” the man's voice was strained, and for the first time Yaz noticed how young he really was. Maybe a year older than her, at the most. He barely had enough whiskers to constitute facial hair, and his cheeks were dotted with acne. “If you do have business with us, we’ll take you down to the wounded convoy, and you can see Captain Wilson. If he recognizes you, then there'll be no trouble.”

“Sounds alright by me,” Graham said, though Yaz had no idea why. She desperately wanted to take him by the shoulders and ask him what the hell he was thinking, because in a few minutes their captors would take them to their captain, who would definitely _not_ recognize them, and then they would almost certainly be shot for spying.

_He has to have a plan._ Their captors gestured for them to walk ahead of them, and as they got going she leaned close and whispered. “Graham, you have a plan right? Please tell me you have a plan.”

He kept his gaze straight ahead, but out of the corner of his mouth whispered, “Don’t worry, I have—”

“No talking!” their lead captor said behind them. Graham gritted his teeth and fell silent. Yaz leaned back and caught Ryan’s eyes, who gave an infinitesimal shake of his head. He looked worried, but she caught the message: _I have no idea what he’s doing, but let’s go with it._

She responded with an almost invisible nod, and turned her gaze forward. Whatever Graham had planned, they were all in it now, whether they liked it or not.

_Team TARDIS, right?_

———

As she ascended the rise, the first thing that hit Yaz was the smell. It was similar to that of the bodies they had passed on the road, but of a much greater intensity, strong enough to bring tears to their eyes, and Yaz had to swallow hard to keep from coughing.

And then they crested the rise, and she saw why.

Below them a long, wriggling column of troops stretched out along the road, a massive body of men and wagons and horses grinding through the dust at a pace Yaz would have been kind to call plodding. Noise rose up from the column, a discordant medley of marching and yelling and stamping hoofs, mixed with the screaming and moaning of the wounded. It was a chaotic scene despite the sluggish pace, as men—medics, Yaz guessed—rushed in and out between wagons and stretchers, trying to care for patients as best they could. Officers on horses spaced themselves throughout the column, flanking the sides, while further off and out in the fields, uninjured soldiers loped through the grass, rifles held high in easy vigilance.

They only had a second to take in the scene in front of them, before their captors jabbed them in the backs to get moving. They stumbled down the rise, and as they closed in on the last wagon in the convoy, Yaz noticed a few of the soldiers turning to gawk at the strange new prisoners. 

Their lead captor marched them up to the end of the convoy, next to a wagon full of bandaged men, most of who sat with their heads down, and didn’t look up as they approached. 

“Wait here,” he growled, and then turned to the other two solders. “Tomsin, MacCaren, watch them while I go find the captain. If they try anything, shoot them.”

Yaz’s heart skipped a beat at those words, and from the looks on Ryan and Graham’s faces, she figured they were feeling the same as she. Tomsin and MacCaren nodded, and both trained their rifles on the three, pressing them on ahead. They fell in place behind the wagon, matching its creeping pace, and began to walk. Their lead captor gave them one last scrutinizing look, and then turned and disappeared into the mass of soldiers.

They walked quietly for a few seconds, trailing behind the wagon with their heads down. Then Graham twisted around to look at the two soldiers, and said kindly, “So how’s it been for you fellows here?”

“Quiet,” the one Yaz suspected to be MacCaren said, just as Tomsin gave a nod towards the convoy and said “What do you think?”

They both paused and shared a glance. Something seemed to pass between them, and then MacCaren spoke. “Listen, I don’t know who you are, and I don’t know what business you think you have with us, showing up out of nowhere, but this—” he gestured with his rifle to the wagon in front of them, “—is a wounded convoy. Our job is to get these men back to safety. So if you are saboteurs, you better take that into consideration, just what kind of convoy you’re attacking.”

He seemed to be trying for gruffness as he said this, but Yaz noticed the way his lip kept twitching as he spoke, along with the white pallor of his face beneath the patchwork beard. He looked just as young as their lead captor, and nervous, judging from the twitchy way he gripped his gun. Yaz wondered if perhaps those nerves—the fear of being attacked—originated from personal experience.

“Have your wounded been attacked before, then?” she asked tentatively, and turned around just as the other man—Tomsin— responded with a snort.

“Better ask when we haven’t,” he said, and Yaz felt a twang of fear in her stomach. He nodded out towards the fields, where soldiers traipsed along, gazing out into the distance. “Usually from the fields, but it’s different every time. They know the land better than we do, see. And they don’t fight fair. They hit and run, and we can’t find them without leaving the wounded.”

“Oh right, tell her everything.” MacCaren shot him a dirty look, and Tomsin responded with one of affront. “Yeah, because if she’s a saboteur she’s definitely not going to know her own techniques, is that it? Besides, I’ve never seen a lady saboteur before, have you?”

MacCaren rolled his eyes. “Oh, so that just takes the suspicion right off, doesn’t it? Just because she’s a girl? So we can just let her go free now, huh?”

Yaz stared at them. Despite the nerves jangling in her chest, she wasn’t sure how to respond to the two men—or _if_ she should respond. What was there for her to say? She caught Ryan’s eye, who gave her a look of disbelief, and shrugged slightly. What was she to do?

Graham stepped beside them, and Yaz watched him lean in close to Ryan and whisper something. She watched Ryan’s face go from puzzled to thoughtful, and then slowly, a grin spread across his face. He nodded at whatever Graham said, who then turned and leaned close to Yaz. She leaned in to hear, wary of the two soldiers still arguing behind them, and said, “Is this what you were going to tell me earlier?”

“Yeah sorry about that,” he whispered, and paused to give a quick glance back at the arguing soldiers before continuing. “See, I have an idea for when we meet the captain. Before we left the TARDIS, I—”

“INCOMING!” a huge cry rose up from the convoy, a wave of shouts that rippled down the column, and whatever Graham was about to say drowned in an enormous _BOOM_ that reverberated through Yaz’s chest and eardrums. The column, the convoy, right down to the wagon in front of them, ground to a halt, and Yaz stumbled into it, just as another _BOOM_ shook the earth. She stumbled again and grabbed the wagon for balance. Somebody tumbled next to her, and she looked over to see Tomsin clinging to the wagon as well. 

“Are they—” the words barely left her mouth before a dull _pom-pom-pom_ echoed across the landscape, and Tomsin pushed her to the ground. “Get down!”

She hit the ground hard and grit her teeth against the dust, and instinctively moved to get back to her feet, before a hand appeared in the small of her back and pushed her to the ground again.

“Stay down,” she heard Tomsin’s angry voice above her. “Can’t you tell they’re shooting at us?”

As if to prove his statement, the chatter of a machine gun seemed to shatter the air around her, a discordant symphony that sent jagged fear running up her throat. She could hear the whine right over her head, a constant _zip-zip-zip_ of bullets slicing through the air, and distantly she realized that they only had to angle the gun slightly lower, that was all, and then she would be dead. 

A thump hit the ground beside her, and she heard a rifle go off a second later— _that had to be Tomsin, nothing to worry about_ —and then, just as suddenly as the shooting had started, a lull passed over their area. Tomsin leapt to his feet, and she heard his footsteps pounding off. She desperately wanted to join him. But just as she had nearly made up the courage to do so, that awful _pom-pom-pom-pom_ from before rang out again, followed immediately by the ugly chatter of the machine gun, and there was nothing she could do but force her head lower into the dirt, and pray that Graham and Ryan were okay.

_Oh my god, we’re actually being shot at._ The thought ran deliriously through her head, and not for the first time, Yaz wished that the Doctor was with her. She would know what to do. Probably figure out a way to stop the shooting herself, just by talking. Stand up in the middle of the field and tell them they were all idiots. The image of the Doctor, standing out in a field, looking down two armies with a scolding of expression on her face forced a hard laugh into Yaz’s throat, which came out as a sob. She couldn’t tell which was stronger; the fear, or her sudden, irrational longing for the Doctor.

Another _BOOM_ shattered through the steady firing, and Yaz bit down hard on her tongue. She was half underneath the wagon, which she figured was safe enough, but she didn’t hear anybody around her. Tomsin had run off, and she hadn’t seen either Graham nor Ryan when she’d gone down. 

_Oh no, what if they’d been hit? What if…_ Rifles kept cracking in the distance. The steady fire of what she took to be a machine gun pounded on. Every once in a while one of those terrible, awful _BOOMS_ crashed down somewhere, sending tremors through the ground. Wails of pain and cries for help rose up. Part of Yaz wanted to stand up, to respond, but the gunfire overhead forced her down into the ground. She couldn’t move. 

Minutes passed, and seemed like an eternity. Eventually, the machine gun fire began to fade off, the _pom-pom-poms_ coming in bursts rather than a steady wave. There was a _BOOM,_ and then a long gap before another one came down. The rifle cracks popped off in less and less frequent intervals, and the sounds grew farther and farther off into the distance. 

Quiet began to roll back in, punctuated by the moans of the wounded. Yaz raised her head slowly, and gave a long look around, before cautiously raising herself to a sitting position. She spit out a mouthful of dirt, and was about to pull herself to her feet, when a cry came from her left.

“Yaz? Graham?”

“Ryan!” Without thinking, Yaz lurched to her feet. “Ryan, where are you?”

“Over here!” she peered over the top of the wagon, and caught sight of him, wincing as he dragged himself into a standing position. Relief flooded through her; she could have kissed him. “Thank _god_ you’re okay!”

“Cheers,” Ryan gave her a shaky grin. His hands, she noticed, were trembling as they gripped the wagon. “Are _you_ okay?”

“I am,” she returned his somewhat watery smile, and noticed that her hands were shaking too. “Did you see Graham though?”

“No.” Ryan’s smile faded. “He didn’t go down with you? He was right by you when the shooting started.”

Yaz shook her head, and felt the worry start to creep up again. “I didn’t see him. Tomsin knocked me down next to the wagon, and then ran off.”

“Yeah, MacCaren did the same for me.” Ryan’s smile transformed into a look of worry, verging on full panic. “Oh god Yaz—you don’t think—”

“Hey you two!” They turned to see their lead captor, the one who’d left them before the shooting started, running down the column. “Where are your guards? Why are you standing?”

They turned to him, expressions pleading. “You have to help us—” Ryan began, but he wasn’t listening. He swung his rifle over to one hand as he approached, and used his other to gesture wildly towards the ground. “You have to get down, you idiots! Don’t you realize we’ve just been attacked? They could hit us again any—”

A _BOOM_ cracked across the field, one of those dreadful sounds that sent Yaz’s heart immediately shuddering at two hundred beats a minute, and she saw Ryan stagger back from the sound even as out of the corner of her eye she noticed their captor skid to a halt and dive to the ground. She was about to do the same, but then another ground-cracking _BOOM_ sounded out, only this one felt as if it had gone off right by her feet—and it must have, for the next thing Yaz knew she was flying through the air, and when she hit the ground she barely had time to register any pain before her vision faded, and darkness closed in on her.

————

Yaz came back to consciousness slowly, and not without resistance. She didn’t want to wake up—the blackness dragged at her, heavy and comfortable and oh so tempting, and for a blissful second she considered just curling up into a ball on the soft dirt and letting sleep take her.

And then she remembered that last, teeth-shattering _BOOM,_ and the way it had flung her backwards, completely out into the open, and for all she knew, any second another one might come raining down to finish the job. Her eyes flew open and she jolted upright, about to scramble for cover—and then realized that she wasn’t back in the convoy at all. What was more, the soft dirt she’d presumed to be lying on—and it hadn’t been soft, she recalled now, but hard and dusty—was actually a bed, the sheets a sterile white. 

And just as she realized this, a pair of gentle hands caught her by the shoulders. “Hey now, easy does it.”

“Where—” she stared confusedly at the hospital bed across from her. Her head was spinning from sitting up too fast, and _damn_ she hadn’t felt this sore since her first day of self-defense training in the police.

“Eager, now aren’t we?” A familiar laugh. Yaz’s heart froze. She looked down at the hands which had caught her as she woke, and followed them up to the women beside her, who began to chatter away as she gently tried to ease Yaz back down onto her pillows.

“You gave me a right scare, waking up like that—though I can’t blame you after all they said you’ve been through. They say you got caught with the wounded convoy when they were attacked. Can’t _imagine_ how terrifying it must’ve been, though I am curious to know how you ended—you alright, miss?”

Yaz didn’t answer. She was too busy staring, her head still turning too much to make sense of anything, and she half-wondered if she was hallucinating, or dreaming, because the woman standing beside her, wearing some sort of gray and white uniform dress, couldn’t be the—

“Doctor?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so the wagons team tardis saw would actually be horse-pulled ambulances, but I'm assuming they wouldn't know enough to tell the difference. also it's very rare, according to what I learned, for big wounded convoys to be transported back to hospitals, rather than smaller ones, but i needed the inaccuracy for the sake of the story. so if you're really interested, what really happened to evacuate the wounded would have been a series of stations--probably a first aid station, then a field hospital, then maybe a bigger hospital away from the front lines. Most of which were converted buildings taken over by the british. the more you know! (the less accurate your fanfictions will be)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ye finally we meet the doctor

The Doctor stared at her, puzzled, and Yaz’s heart unfroze, only to sink like a stone. Then the Doctor laughed, a soft chuckle that was completely unlike her, and turned to mark something down on a sheet of paper lying on the small bedside table. “That’s very kind of you to say, but I’m not the doctor. He’ll be making his rounds in a couple hours though, if you’d like to talk to him. And I’m sure he’ll be eager to talk to you, since you’ll be joining us and all.”

“Joining—you?” Yaz’s throat felt thick. She tried to swallow, but it did nothing to alleviate the lump. Her head felt like it was filled with cotton, making it nearly impossible to think in a straight line. “I don’t understand. Doctor—”

“Nurse,” the Doctor corrected her with a funny little smile. She marked something else down on the paper which Yaz couldn’t read. “Nurse Smith. Or Sister Smith, if you prefer that one. Don’t sweat it, dear. You’ve had a rough couple of days, and with the operation—did you know you’re the first nursing sister to be injured by enemy fire in the whole war? And hopefully the last one too, we have enough already with those poor boys out there, not to mention—”

“Wait—nurse?” the Doctor was speaking too fast, and about too many things for Yaz to comprehend it all. “I’m not—and you’re not—”

The Doctor glanced at her, and then turned with her pen poised, a small frown of concern appearing on her face. “Are you sure you’re alright, Miss? Maybe I should call the—”

“No, no, don’t call anyone else!” Yaz said quickly. The Doctor’s eyebrows rose in surprise at her forceful response, but she put the pen down on the table and laid a reassuring hand on Yaz’s forehead. “Hmm, don’t have a fever.”

Yaz sank back into her pillows wearily, as the Doctor removed her hand and wrote something down on the paper. She watched her, a pit of dread forming at the bottom of her stomach. Something was terribly wrong with the Doctor—or maybe this person, this Nurse Smith, was an impostor and had stolen her face for some nefarious purposes. Or perhaps it really was the Doctor, and she’d simply had her mind wiped, and some other person’s memories slotted in their place. Yaz couldn’t decide which one was worse. An urge to cry bubbled up in her throat, but she turned it into a cough, and furiously blinked away the tears which threatened to form. Whoever this person was, she decided, she couldn’t let on that she knew anything. For all she knew, they already recognized her as a companion of the Doctor, and were simply waiting for her to slip up.

Whatever. If this—this _trickster_ —could play the long game, Yaz could as well.

“Um, Nurse—Smith?” the Doctor looked up at her, an inquisitive half-smile on her face. Yaz swallowed again, and forced a sheepish expression. “I think you’re right—I’m just a little out of it, is all. Would you mind telling me how I got here? And—oh, the two men I was with? Are they okay?”

Her voice faltered slightly on the last word, despite her attempt to keep it neutral. Bits and pieces were floating back to her as she spoke—of Tomsin pushing her to the ground, followed by that hideous waiting as bullets cracked around them. She recalled suddenly hearing Ryan’s wonderfully uninjured voice, but then remembered with a jolt that they hadn’t been able to find—oh no. Yaz’s stomach twisted. _Graham._

But the Doctor—no, Nurse Smith, she had to keep them separate in her head, because this was _not her_ —just smiled kindly. “You mean the major and the orderly?”

“The—oh, yeah. Yes.” One thing at a time. Yaz would get to the bottom of that later. “Are they alright?”

“A little banged up, but they’re fine.” If Yaz were standing, she would have fallen over from relief. _Thank goodness._ “Actually, the—oh, what’s his name? Major O’Brien? Didn’t have a scratch on him. Luck of the Irish, I suppose. Or maybe he didn’t look like much of a target without his rank.”

She smiled again, and the familiarity of it hit Yaz like a punch in the gut. It was that soft smile the Doctor had worn when she’d comforted Hanne, even though the girl couldn’t see it, and the kind of smile Yaz caught once or twice on the Doctor’s face when nobody else had been looking, when she’d caught her watching herself and Ryan and Graham experience something new and wonderful, something she’d probably already seen a million times. 

Whoever had stolen the Doctor’s face, Yaz vowed silently, would not make it to see the end of the week.

When Yaz didn’t respond—though her relief was clear by the expression on her face—the nurse kept on talking. 

“We did think it was a little funny, you three showing up with no uniforms, and only the major conscious to explain it all, but he was very calm about it all. Insisted you two get immediate care and then went up to Dr. Brooks and showed him your papers. And then he explained how your boat had been attacked coming in and with the locals stealing your uniforms—they turn them over to the saboteurs you know, use ‘em for spying—you all had nothing to do but come find the proper side.” She shook her head when she finished, as if she couldn’t quite believe that they had gone through such an adventure. To be fair, Yaz found it all pretty unbelievable herself, and she wondered briefly exactly what kind of papers Graham had managed to come up with to explain their arrival. Then she remembered what he had begun to tell her, right before the shooting started.

_“Before we left the TARDIS, I—”_

The psychic paper! He must have found it in the console room, and brought it with them as they’d left the TARDIS. _Oh Graham, you genius._

“Right, it was—quite an ordeal.” Yaz tried to add a crack to her voice, as if to imply that the events were too traumatizing for her to consider. It seemed to work, because the nurse’s eyes crinkled in sympathy. She put the pen back down and propped up against the bedside table, and then placed a kindly hand over Yaz’s.

“I really, truly can’t imagine. And for a nurse too…you know we’re not supposed to be on the front lines. It’s dangerous enough in a hospital like this—” she gestured around at the gray walls, “—with all the sickness going around, but out there?” she shook her head again. “It’s a travesty, that’s what it is. Someone should talk to your Major O’Brien. In fact, I wouldn’t mind—”

“Oh, that’s alright,” Yaz cut her off before she could get any ideas. The last thing Graham needed was to be on the receiving end of some kind of Doctor-impostor masquerading as a nurse. “I’m sure he was doing his best. And you didn’t mention the—the orderly?”

A small part of her wondered what the hell an orderly was supposed to be. It didn’t sound like a soldier, which was good—Yaz couldn’t bear the thought of Ryan going back out into _that_ —but beyond the obvious, she had no clue. Perhaps it meant some kind of assistant, like the administrative kind.

“Oh, he’s alright,” the nurse said, and straightened up again, taking her hand off of Yaz’s. She immediately missed the small comfort of the touch, and then savagely pushed the feeling away. _Don’t get attached, you idiot. It’s not the Doctor comforting you, it’s just someone wearing her face. A fake. A liar._

“He was about the same shape as you when you came in, which wasn’t too bad—you two missed most of the blast, though the other man—Jacobson, I think?—wasn’t so lucky.” She was working as she spoke and paused to check something off on the paper, leaving Yaz to wonder who Jacobson was meant to be. Then she remembered their nameless captor, the one who’d run towards them and screamed to take cover, and the realization hit her; he must have been closest to the blast when it landed. 

Her stomach turned with guilt, but she kept her expression neutral as the nurse kept talking. “It was mostly the blast that got you two, and a bit of shrapnel, but the surgeons fished that out real quick. And I’ve been keeping an eye on you, well you and him cos it’s my job, but I’ve been checking up on you a bit more just because I didn’t expect to get another sister, and it’s awfully exciting.”

She tucked her pen behind her ear, right next to the kind of white nursing cap Yaz had only seen in period dramas, and gave her a wink. 

“I’ve got to go check on the other patients, but if you need me, don’t be afraid to call. Name’s Mae Smith, but -” she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “You can just call me Mae if you want, I really don’t mind. And we’ll be working together soon anyway, won’t we?”

“Oh—yeah.” Yaz nodded, and noticed glumly that the damn lump was back in her throat. The nurse—or Mae, as Yaz was apparently meant to call her—had pinned some of the Doctor’s mannerisms down to a tee, and it _hurt_ to watch. Everything about the situation hurt, and that was even before Yaz factored in her underlying panic, which kept screaming at her: _how on earth am I going to deal with this without the Doctor?_

But she just said, “Thank you,” and then, just as the nurse—Mae—turned to leave, called out, “My name’s Yasmin on your chart, yeah? But my friends call me Yaz…if you want.”

Mae half-turned and shot her a broad grin, the kind that absolutely ached of the Doctor. “Alright Yaz. And you know what? I think I’m going to like working with you.”

And then she turned around to check on a bed further down the room, leaving Yaz in her own corner, alone. She watched her work until it became too painful to do so, and then turned her gaze to the empty hospital bed across from her. She stared at it without really seeing it, caught up in her own thoughts. 

The truth was, she didn’t know what to do. The Doctor wasn’t the Doctor, and Yaz and Ryan and Graham clearly had to find a way to bring her back—but how? And how was she supposed to do that confined to a hospital bed? Not to mention that every part of her hurt, and when she moved, flares of intense pain shot through various parts of her body. She still didn’t even know the extent of her injuries.

Apprehensively, and with the utmost care, Yaz pulled back her sheets to check herself over, wincing at what she discovered; several puncture wounds dotted her right leg, with a couple more spread over her left calf. They looked like tiny stars, too small, she could tell, to be needing stitches, but they burned something awful when she gently prodded one. She found another on her hip, and three more on her right forearm, just below her elbow. Shrapnel, she realized, from the last bomb that Jacobson had borne the brunt of. She—and Ryan, according to the Doctor, or Mae as she’d called herself—must _just_ have caught the last bits. 

They were lucky, she realized. Painfully, stupidly, _unfairly_ lucky. And Jacobson hadn’t been.

Yaz collapsed against her pillows, suddenly exhausted. She knew she had to do something, had to somehow alert Graham and Ryan about the Doctor, but she had no idea where they were or how to get to them. She knew they were okay though, which was more than she had hoped for. Especially Graham. How on earth had he been so lucky to escape alive and unharmed? And now he was a major, according to the Doct—Mae. According to Mae.

Perhaps Graham could find her, Yaz thought woozily. The room was spinning now at a nice rate, lazy and slow, and it was lulling her back into sleep. She couldn’t get up now anyway—she was bedridden. Perhaps when the doctor, the regular one, came to do rounds, she would ask to see him. Then she would fill him in on whatever was happening to the Doctor, and ask about Ryan…

This all made perfect sense to Yaz, but she didn’t have much time to contemplate it further, for in the next second her eyes fluttered shut and she fell back into unconsciousness.

———

She woke up to the sound of voices.

They were slightly distant, as if standing on the opposite side of the room, but as she listened there was some rustling and footsteps, and the voices grew louder until they sounded right on top of her. She kept her eyes closed, still half-drifting towards unconsciousness, and then one familiar voice cut through the relative quiet.

“So tell me doctor, you think she’ll be alright? That she’ll wake up soon?”

“Well Major, from what Sister Smith told me, she did wake up once today—”

Yaz’s eyes flew open, and she immediately spotted the owner of that familiar voice, despite the unfamiliar uniform he was wearing.

_“Gra—_ er, Major O’Brien!” Her instincts and memory caught up to her at the last moment, just as Graham and a man she presumed to be the doctor looked up from the paper they were poring over. A grin split Graham’s face, before he quickly schooled it into a sort of gruff pleasure.

“Glad to see you’re awake, Ya-Miss Khan,” he said. The doctor gave him an odd look at his slip up, then seemed to shake it off, and instead marked something down on the file in his hands.

“Miss Khan, we haven’t yet had the pleasure.” He spoke to her without looking up as he wrote. “I am Dr. Brooks, your attending physician and the director of this hospital. As I’ve understood from Major O’Brien here, you plan on joining our nursing team, is that correct?”

Graham nodded intently at her, as if to say _play along,_ but Yaz didn’t need any egging. 

“Yes sir, that’s what I hoped,” she replied in what she hoped was a demure voice. “If you’ll have me, that is.”

“Of course, we need all the hands we can get,” he replied absently, and then gestured towards the sheets curled around her. “Erm, if I may, Miss Khan—I need to inspect your injuries.”

“Oh, um—of course.” Carefully she peeled back the sheets over her legs, and as Dr. Brooks bent down, keeping a respectable distance, and began to prod and examine her wounds, she took the opportunity to shoot Graham a look. It said something along the lines of _we need to talk alone_ , to which he responded by jerking his chin towards Dr. Brooks. _Wait until he’s gone._

Yaz lifted her chin slightly in affirmation, just as Dr. Brooks straightened up again. “Alright, I see you have one puncture wound on your hip which I’ll leave to the nurse, for matters of decency…now, just your arm, if you please.”

Obediently Yaz thrust her arm out towards him, trying not to wince as the movement sent pain running from her elbow to her wrist. Graham winced in sympathy, and watched with wide eyes as Dr. Brooks inspected the wounds, turning her arm this way and that, before letting it go, to drop into her lap. She pulled it back under the sheets—it was slightly chilly in the hospital room—as the doctor stepped away, and made one last note in his files before tucking them under his arm, finally turning to look at her full-on.

“So, Miss Khan,” he began, and stuck his hands into his pockets, pushing back his lab coat as he did so to reveal a rather disheveled beige uniform. He was a military doctor, Yaz realized, which meant that she had to be at a military hospital—and that meant that they thought she was some kind of military nurse as well. 

“You’ve been very lucky, as I was just explaining to your Major O’Brien here,” he continued, and tilted his head towards Graham. “He was very concerned about you these past few days. I’m sure Sister Smith explained somewhat as to the status of your injuries, but rest assured that you needn’t worry too much. Most of the shrapnel you took in the explosion was incredibly light, and our surgeons were able to get almost all of it out—and the little that remained should pose no problem to your future health. You should have full range of mobility, and barring infection, I believe we’ll have you up and on your feet in a few days.”

He smiled at the end of his statement, the ends of his mustache twitching upwards with his lips, and Yaz simply nodded, relieved. The phrase _very lucky_ floated around her head again. Very lucky indeed. 

“Thank you, Dr. Brooks.” She shifted uncertainly, and then decided to ask the next question preying on her mind. “And once I’m better, you said, then I’ll—?”

“You’ll be assigned to Sister Smith to start you off, I reckon,” he said, and gave a quiet chuckle. “I believe you’ll be very happy with her, and vice versa—she’s an excellent nurse, and I think she’s excited to show you the ropes. Besides, we do need the extra hands, as I said.”

He spoke genially, and despite the air of military stiffness around him, Yaz sensed an honesty to his words. Of course, that was no surprise—Yaz had never known the Doctor to be bad at anything. _Ever._ And if she was going to run off and become a nurse, it went without saying that she would be a fantastic one. Even if it was just some shape shifting alien masquerading as the Doctor.

“Alright,” Yaz said. “Um, I mean—great. Thank you doctor. I’m excited as well.”

Her voice sounded overly bright and fake to her own ears, but Dr. Brooks didn’t seem to notice, for he just gave her a curt nod. “Good, now I’m afraid I must get on to my other patients. Major O’Brien—”

“Actually, Dr. Brooks, I’m going to stay and have a word with Miss Khan here,” Graham said firmly. 

The doctor glanced at him, and then at Yaz, but simply said, “I see. Well then, I’ll leave you to it. And Miss Khan,”—he gave a slight tilt of his head—“I’m looking forward to seeing you on the staff.”

And with that he turned and made his way back down the room, stopping only once or twice to exchange a greeting to a few of the patients. Graham and Yaz waited tensely until he at last made it to the door, and only once he opened it and disappeared into the hallway did Graham move to stand next to her bedside table, effectively blocking their conversation from the rest of the room.

“Yaz, how are you?” he asked and took her hand, giving it a tight squeeze, which Yaz returned happily. “I can’t tell you how worried I’ve been, over you and Ryan both—”

“Ryan, how is he?” Yaz jumped in. “I heard some from the nurse, but Graham, listen—she’s—”

“The Doctor, I know,” Graham answered grimly, and then when he saw Yaz’s astonished expression, forced a small chuckle. “Yaz, I’m fine—and so is Ryan too for that matter, you don’t know the fit I’ve been in these past few days—but I met her yesterday. I’ve been up and about you know, saving all our tails.”

He said this with a light smile, but the wrinkle in his brow betrayed him; Yaz could tell, from the dark circles under his eyes and the tired way he leaned against the bedside table, that the past few days must have been hell for him. Aand yet he’d managed it, even pulling out three new identities that would hopefully keep them safely under the radar.

“You had the psychic paper, didn’t you?” she asked, and he grinned rather proudly. “Yeah I wasn’t sure how to use it, but I figured it couldn’t hurt to take along.”

“Graham, you’re an absolute _genius,_ ” She said, and then smirked as her gaze traveled over his stiff beige uniform. “Nice outfit, by the way. Do they really think you’re a major?”

“Oh—oh yeah.” He shifted uncomfortably, and pulled at his collar. “Let me tell you, it looks grander than it is. Damn thing’s itchy as all hell, I don’t know how they stand it. And they gave me a pistol, can you believe that?”

Yaz stared at him in disbelief, and he gestured towards the right side of his belt, where a pistol sat encased in a holster. “Tell me, what am I supposed to do with a pistol? Mind you, no idea what I’m supposed to be doing as a major either, I was never in the military.”

“That makes two of us.” Yaz’s expression turned sober. “I don’t know the first thing about nursing, ‘cept the basic first aid stuff. How am I supposed to fake that?”

“Least you’re familiar with the general concepts,” Graham said. “I was just over talking to Ryan, you know what he is? A medical orderly. Now tell me, how is he supposed to fake that?”

Yaz frowned. “Didn't you two watch Call the Midwife? That's gotta be something.” She'd never seen it, but she had a vague recollection that it had something to do with nurses in the 1950s, and now she was beginning to regret not watching. 

Graham shrugged. “Not much use for a midwife in this hospital, looks like. And Grace never taught me or him anything useful. He’s got a man over there filling him in on the job though, sounded to me like there’ll be a lot of cleaning bedpans.”

“Then it’s probably the same for me.” Yaz made a face. “But Graham, you heard what that doctor said right? The nurse I’m working with—”

“I know, I know,” Graham said, and groaned, putting his hand to his forehead. “Yeah she’s the Doctor ain’t she? Only she’s got no idea who she is, thinks her name is Mae Smith of all the bloody names—”

“Something’s wrong with her,” Yaz said, and as she did she felt once more that frantic panic from earlier rise in her chest. “Either she’s lost her memory, or something’s taken her face, or—”

“Or maybe she did this to herself,” Graham cut her off. Yaz looked at him in confusion.

“Why on earth would she do this to herself?”

“Well that’s what you said, didn’t you?” Yaz just stared at him, perplexed, and then shook her head slowly. 

“When did I say that?”

Graham sighed, and leaned back, propping his full weight against the bedside table. “Okay, see, I’ve been considering this a while. The whole day actually, didn’t have much else to do. And I remembered, back in the TARDIS, that thing you were describing to us—”

“The Chameleon Arch,” Yaz breathed, and suddenly the memory, hidden under the vivid trauma of the most recent events, came flooding back. “Chameleon, right! That’s what Ryan said, remember? Because chameleons change their color to blend in—”

“So maybe she’s trying to hide.” Graham’s expression grew sober. “So that’s what I’ve been thinking, see? Because it makes sense, according to what you said, and how the TARDIS acted, and even how she was being so strange when she dropped us off. It all fits together, right?”

“Yeah but—” Yaz’s head was spinning. It _did_ all make sense, much more than her own theory, only— “We can’t let our guard down, though. Cos she could be playing the long game, couldn’t she? Maybe she’s just trying to trick us.”

Graham nodded, but he looked uncertain. “Obviously, yeah. But either way, we’ve got to keep an eye on her. I reckon that’s our best way to figure things out for the moment. Which means…”

“ _I’ve_ got to keep an eye on her.” Yaz couldn’t quite hide her grimace. “That’s what you meant, yeah? Because we’re working together.”

“Well…” Graham shifted uncomfortably. “It’s the most logical solution. What’s she gonna do, teach Ryan how to be an orderly?”

“I suppose,” Yaz grumbled. Her gaze dropped to her lap. Of all the things she’d expected, the Doctor masquerading as a human—or something else, masquerading as her—was the last of them. And they’d only talked once, but that had been bad enough. Just watching the Doctor look at her without an ounce of recognition in her eye was enough to make Yaz shudder. She had no idea how she was meant to survive any more of this. “I don’t think I’m going to enjoy it very much, to be honest. It was bad enough, her not recognizing me the one time.”

Graham put a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. His eyes were soft. “I get you, I really do. Me and Ryan were talking about the same thing, only—well, suppose it’ll be harder for you. But you know we’ve got your back, right? We’ll always have your back, Yaz.”

“Thanks,” Yaz mumbled, head still down, but a small smile crept across her face. Trust Graham to say the right thing. Trust him to do all the right things as well, from thinking ahead and grabbing the psychic paper, to coming up with the most reasonable theory about the Doctor. He’d probably hashed out all the details of their plan as well, not that they had any. The only think Yaz could think of now, besides keeping an eye on the Doctor, was to keep an eye out for— 

“Oh, _Graham.”_ She jerked her head up to meet his confused gaze, dawning horror filling her voice. “Did you ever think—did you ever think about why the Doctor would hide? I mean, what thing would be terrible enough to frighten _her?”_

From the mirrored horror in his expression, she could already tell that he hadn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kay i feel the need to come clean and say this entire au started with me thinking to myself 'wouldnt it be funny if the doctor became human and she became a NURSE' because i literally have a terrible sense of humor
> 
> also hope you guys like the name, I wanted to do something a bit different and also I'm working on another human nature au from that one tumblr post where the Doctor is jane so I didnt want to use the same name twice


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay I know i said I post mondays-wednesdays-fridays but I nearly forgot today is actually wednesday. it's still technically wednesday where I'm at, so that counts right
> 
> also sorry for the shortness but the next one will def be longer

“Sister Smith—”

Mae’s paused with one foot in the door to the laundry disposal, her arms full of dirty sheets. She turned around at the sound of the Dr. Brook’s voice, and, despite her tiredness, delivered a bright, if slightly forced, smile. “Sir?”

“I need your notes on Miss Khan from ward 7 if you have the time.” He glanced at his watch, and frowned. “Ah, I see it’s five past. Well, I suppose you could give it to me first thing in the morning—”

“No sir, I don’t mind fetching it now, let me just finish with this—” she tilted her chin down to the sheets piled up in her hands— “And I’ll deliver it to your door, if that’d be alright.”

“Perfect,” he answered, his tone perfunctory as ever, and Mae felt her smile waver slightly, her shoulders dropping in disappointment. She had been trying for nearly two months to get him to pay attention, and had yet to hear a word to the positive—and how was she supposed to impress him if he never took notice of her work? And when he spoke to her, it was without a trace of familiarity, as if he didn’t even recognize her from the university, though Mae had been to enough of his classes for him to surely—

“And I’m sure you already know this, but once Miss Khan recovers I’ll be assigning her to your shift,” he continued, and she refocused on his words, then brightened with interest. “She needs a good mentor, and you’re the best one I’ve got. It will involve extra work, but—”

“I’d be happy to do it!” she burst out, and then backtracked at the look on his face, reeling in the excitement on her next words. “I mean, of course, sir. I’m sure we’ll work very well together. And I can bring her up to speed fast as anyone, I reckon.”

“Alright,” he replied, eyebrows still raised at her earlier enthusiasm. “Well, then. My apologies for adding a few extra minutes to your shift, but I’ll be expecting those files as soon as you can. Have a good night, sister.”

He turned and walked off without waiting for her returning farewell. She watched him go, then sighed and turned back to the laundry disposal room, dumping the pile of dirty sheets she had just spent the last hour gathering. There were far too many now, thanks to the quick turnover of casualties. Mae would have to take the fresh ones back tomorrow—but first, she had to on back to her room to write up those notes, before the doctor grew impatient. He was a fair taskmaster, but when he wanted something done, the implication was _immediately._

“Right, time to get a shift on,” she muttered to nobody in particular, and started down the quickly darkening hall. It occurred to her that she had said those words in her dream the other night, said them to somebody familiar—only she couldn’t remember who. It had been a great dream though, absolutely fantastic; she wished she remembered enough to write it down into a proper story.

———

“How’s Yaz?” 

“She’s alright,” Graham muttered, keeping his voice low. Ryan’s ward was much fuller than Yaz’s, full of young men in varying stages of injury. It hurt to see; but it hurt far worse to see Ryan the same way off, a bandage wrapped around his ear and his arm pockmarked with shrapnel wounds. 

Graham wasn’t one to dwell, but the last couple days had given him plenty upon which to do so. Namely, how he had allowed Ryan to get injured, just because he’d been stuck under a bloody wagon, so wedged in he’d still been trying to pull himself out when the shooting started again. Not that such a thing was an excuse. “Bout the same condition as you I would say.”

“Oi,” Ryan jerked him out of his thoughts with a light punch on his shoulder, and then glanced around surreptitiously to see if anybody had noticed. “I can tell you’re brooding. Stop it, you’re getting like the Doctor. Or Yaz.”

Graham looked at him in surprise. “Yaz doesn’t brood.”

“She does when the Doctor doesn’t laugh at one of her jokes. And she’s been brooding for the past month, haven’t you noticed?” Ryan shook his head. “Dunno what her plans are in the police, but she should stay out of detective work, you ask me.”

Despite himself, Graham chuckled. “Alright, that’s fair. It’s just—”

“You weren’t standing around like a bloody idiot when that bomb hit us.” Ryan rolled his eyes. “I know, you’ve told me this ‘bout a million times. I’m not mad you know. You should have seen us, me and Yaz thought you were dead. Should’ve been smart about it and ducked under the wagon with you.”

“I didn’t duck under,” Graham muttered. “That lad Tomsin pushed me. Damn near got me stuck, head pushed down in the dirt and everything. Didn’t even hear you two yelling.”

Ryan shrugged. “Least we’re here now though, right? And besides, we have to figure out what to do about—” his voice dropped into a proper whisper—“The Doctor. You told Yaz about her, right?”

“Didn’t need to,” Graham replied. “She’s already met her. And she agreed about the Chameleon Arch, but she’s still a bit suspicious.”

Ryan nodded and leaned back into his pillows. “Figured she would be. But did she say anything about turning her back? Maybe something the TARDIS showed her?”

“Not a clue.” Graham cast a worried eye around the room. “But she did say something sort of…troubling.”

“Yeah?” Ryan leaned forward. “What’d she say?”

“So she brought up a good point—that whatever the Doctor was hiding from, it had to be bad didn’t it? Because the Doctor doesn’t hide, ever. Not even from Tim Shaw, or that—that portal thingy, or the turtle army. She always goes plunging in, doesn’t she? But now if she’s trying to hide—”

“Oh.” Understanding lit up in Ryan’s eyes. “ _Oh._ Yeah. And—I didn’t even think of that, that the Doctor might be scared of something.”

“Me neither.” Graham tried to smile, but it came out more like a grimace. Something prickled at the back of his neck, and he turned once more to scan the room. “But now I’ve got good cause to be frightened, nevermind that we’ve got no idea how to snap the Doctor out of whoever this Mae Smith is supposed to be.”

“You think we should?” Ryan asked. His eyes were wide now, his face quickly turning ashen with fear. “Listen, what if—maybe we shouldn’t snap her out of things. She’s gotta have done this for a reason, right? What if,”—he swallowed— “What if we just make things worse, turning her back? Maybe the TARDIS only wants us to keep an eye on things.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Graham groaned, and rubbed a frustrated hand over his chin. It was stubbly by now, and he wondered how on earth he was supposed to shave here. He probably couldn’t get away with letting it go, not now that he was wearing a uniform. “This is all too complicated for me. And mind you, I think I should be retiring to my quarters or something. I don’t think it’ll be a good idea if I appear too friendly with you too.”

_People might already be paying attention,_ he thought, but didn’t say aloud. His neck prickled again, that strange feeling that somebody was watching, but he didn’t want to give voice to such a thing. It was only a feeling, after all. Probably just his nerves rising up in the dark, with night properly fallen.

Ryan nodded. “Right. Not sure you did me a favor dropping Yaz’s theory on me right before I went to bed though. Thanks for that one, Grandad.”

The words were sarcastic but his tone was affectionate, and Graham returned his smile as he rose to his feet. Grandad was a thing now, but Ryan seemed to reserve it only for special occasions. Not that Graham minded. The important thing was that he had it at all. “Night, son.”

“Night, Grandad.” This one was definitely real, and Graham had to wipe that teensy bit of excitement on his face as he made his way out between the beds and towards the door. He reached the door, but just as his fingers touched the handle, that odd tingle on the back of his neck started up again. He turned, half expecting one of the patients to be staring at him. 

Nobody was. 

But, at the end of the room, far enough away that Graham had to squint under the dim glow of the candlelight, he noticed a patient, propped up in his bed, and awake, unlike most of the room. He was sitting strangely still, his eyes fixed on something—or someone. Graham followed his gaze across the room, all the way to—

His grandson. Ryan didn’t appear to notice, for his eyes were closed and he seemed to be shifting in order to get comfortable enough to sleep. Graham looked between them for a second, fear rising up in his chest, and he had just about made the decision to go over there and give that young man a piece of his mind, when he dropped his gaze and began fiddling with his sheets, all traces of alien stillness gone.

It was odd. All of it was. But the man was no longer staring and now, under the dim light, he looked as normal as any of them. Graham wavered for a moment, then realized that every second he stood in the door raised suspicion. He couldn’t do anything here without giving something away. And the ward was full; if that man was secretly an alien, he wouldn’t try anything in front of dozens of people, right? He hadn’t done anything in the past few days, when Ryan had been weak and unconscious.

He didn’t have much of a choice. Graham gave one last look at the man, who now too appeared to be trying to get to sleep, and then turned around and opened the door, slipping out into the hallway.

———

As soon as Mae finished her notes—rather, a summary of the Khan girl’s condition—she stuck them in her pocket and headed over to Dr. Brooks’ office. It was late, but she could see a faint light emanating from under the closed door, and she deliberated for a moment between knocking or slipping them under the door. Then, decisively she announced her presence with three sharp raps. 

“Come in,” the muffled reply came. Mae let herself in, and caught a faint look of surprise flicker across Dr. Brooks’ face, before vanishing. “Ah, Mae. You know, you could have slipped them under the door. No need to trouble yourself.”

“That’s alright, sir.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out the notes, but then hesitated, making no move to pass them over. “I actually wanted to, er, talk to you about something.”

“Right.” His eyes, distinctly unimpressed, flickered down to the notes in her hand. “Well, let me have what you’ve come to bring me first, and then you can get out whatever it is you need to tell me.”

“Oh—yes, ‘course.” She passed them across the desk to his waiting hands, and he unfolded the pages and began to read. His eyes were still on the lines in front of him when he spoke. “Alright, what is it you needed to tell me?”

His tone was flat, discouragingly so, but Mae plowed ahead anyway. “It’s about the university, sir. As you know, I’ve been sitting in on classes for some time, including yours, and I know we’ve had a similar discussion, but—”

“Oh, not this again.” He let out an annoyed sigh, and tossed the notes on the desk in front of him before looking up at her. “Mae, as I’ve told you before, I won’t just write you a recommendation willy-nilly. You’re quick on your feet, I’ll give you that, but you’ve done nothing to prove to me so far that you’ll make anything more than an above-average nurse.”

Mae thought of about a dozen impolite responses to this, but she just gritted her teeth and said, “I understand your concerns, but if I were given more responsibilities, if I could perhaps tail you, only for a day—”

“Mae— _Mae._ ” He held up his hand to stop her, and leaned back in his chair. “Don’t start with that nonsense. We’re in a war zone, if you haven’t noticed, and I don’t have time to tutor you as if this were a university. You’re not a student here, you’re a nurse, and if you really want to impress me you should be paying attention to the extra duty I _have_ assigned you.”

“Right.” Disappointment washed over her. “Miss Khan. I haven’t forgotten, sir. And I’ll do well by her, it’s just that the university deadline—”

“Is not going anywhere,” Dr. Brooks said, and picked up the notes again, clearly signaling the conversation to be over. “There will always be a next year. And besides, I wouldn’t count on the war being over so soon, Sister Smith. We’ve begun to beat them back, but we still have a long way to go. And in war, there are always surprises.”

By the time he finished speaking his eyes were already glued back to the notes she had written him, and Mae knew this was her cue to leave. She turned and pulled open the door, and then risked one last glance back. Dr. Brooks was still engrossed in the papers in front of him. She wasn’t sure if his utter absorption was intentional or not, but she called out “Goodnight, Dr. Brooks,” just before slipping out into the hallway, and wasn’t surprised when no answering goodbye followed. That was typical, with the doctor.

“Right, that was a disaster,” she sighed, and leaned up against the wall, not quite ready to head back to the nursing sisters’ quarters. They would only get mad at her for lighting candles again, just as they got mad at her for keeping the candle on to read her textbooks late at night. They had a point, she could concede, but it wasn’t as if she had any other time to study. And it wasn’t their candles she was burning, but her own. 

So she leaned up against the wall, and gave herself a proper thirty seconds to sulk over the doctor’s brushing off. _30…29…28…_

It wasn’t fair. In fact, it was really, properly, unfair. If she’d had loads of money, they would have let her in at once, though they might have thought her a bit kooky. Rich ladies were allowed to take to their fancy, as long as they forked over the money. But Mae had no money to her name, only borrowed books and ambition that got her in trouble more often than not. Like a couple moments before.

_20…19…18…_

And she’d seen plenty of new doctors stumbling over material she’d long since memorized, anyway. She knew she could breeze past them in the entry exams, if only she’d be allowed to sit them. But she wasn’t, because she was a poor woman with no social status, and the only person who took her even half-seriously wouldn’t touch a pen to paper for a recommendation unless she managed to perform open-heart surgery, or something equally impossible.

_10…9…8…_

But Mae knew she was only sulking. The doctor had high standards, but she had never shied away from such. It was frustrating, she allowed, but she could admit to the logic of his reasoning; he couldn’t just admit any old riffraff from the streets into the university. After all, even the penniless lads who wanted to study medicine had to sit extra exams. She’d seen them herself.

_3…2…1…0._

Mae pushed off the wall and turned down the hall, now only lit by candles mounted on the wall. Tonight, she decided, she wouldn’t study. She would figure out the best ways to teach Yasmin Khan—Yaz, that was what she called herself—all that she knew. And once the girl was back on her feet, Mae would turn her into the best nurse the hospital had ever seen, so good that the doctor wouldn’t be able to brush her off the next time she asked for his recommendation.

And once she had Dr. Brooks vouching for her back at the university, the Dean would have to let her sit the exams—which she would pass easily, with all the extra studying she’d done. Then it would only take a few years of study for Mae Smith to become the finest doctor Britain had ever seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah literally the entire idea for this fic came from me thinking it'd be funny if human doctor was a nurse who wanted to be a doctor. tbh it's not that funny now that i think about it


	7. Chapter 7

It took another two days of bed rest before Yaz was finally given permission to attempt walking, and it couldn’t have come a moment too soon. Staying confined to a bed was driving her mad, especially when the weight of the Doctor’s predicament hung so heavily over her head. Every waking hour found Yaz constantly on edge, worried that the Doctor’s mysterious monster would appear before they were well enough to protect her. Not that Yaz put much stock in their chances outside of the sickbed. If whatever thing chasing the Doctor was frightening enough to make her turn tail and hide, what use could three humans be against it?

She and Graham tried not to discuss that part, on the few occasions he’d managed to visit her. They might not be powerful enough against whatever was hunting the Doctor, but that was a moot point. Yaz knew—and she saw it in Graham’s face as well—that she would protect the Doctor. No matter what would happen.

But that didn’t mean she wasn’t worried. And with Graham only able to come see her a few minutes a day, having started his job—as an _admin officer_ of all things—Yaz had nobody to talk to, and nothing to distract herself with. Not even a book. 

Except when the Doctor came.

Or rather, Mae Smith. She did her rounds twice a day, and every time she came into the ward, Yaz tried to ignore her. Even though she knew it was stupid and impractical to do so. And even though she knew they’d be working together soon, rendering all her silly, immature obstinacy pointless in the end.

Except that every time Yaz watched Mae Smith move about like the Doctor, and talk in the Doctor’s voice, and gesture like the Doctor— _and yet so clearly not be the Doctor_ —she felt like screaming. Like taking Mae Smith by the shoulders and shouting ‘Don’t you know this isn’t you? That you’re not real? This—you—it’s all fake! Wake up, Doctor, why won’t you just—wake _up!_ ’

But she couldn’t do that, for obvious reasons, so instead Yaz just sat in her bed and looked away when Mae Smith came in, and seethed silently over something that she knew was petty and childish. The logical part of her brain recognized the absurdity in blaming the Doctor’s fake identity for something the Doctor did— _and it’s not her, isn’t it? it’s a facsimile, not even real_ —but emotionally, Yaz couldn’t ignore the sharp sense of betrayal that stabbed at her every time she caught sight of Mae Smith. The words _she didn’t even trust us to explain_ would float across her mind, and though Yaz would push them away, the thought _I don’t think I can do this without her_ always followed close behind, and that one she couldn’t shut up quite so easily.

However, she did her best to keep up a cheery face every time Mae Smith came to check her over. She did pretty well too, and only slipped up once, on the first day, when Mae Smith came over with a wide smile and a ‘morning, Yaz!’ in _the Doctor’s voice_ , and Yaz nearly choked on her return greeting. She recovered quickly though, and over the next few days managed to keep it cordial, if a bit distant.

Until the third day came, and Yaz learned she would be allowed to walk.

“Really?” Yaz asked Dr. Brooks, astonished. “So I can go and visit the other wards then?”

She had been desperate to see Ryan ever since she’d woken up, and though Graham did his best in passing on messages and greetings and status updates between the two, it wasn’t the same. She loved seeing Graham, but he’d only been able to come round about once a day, leaving her bored and useless in her bed. There were only a few other female patients in the ward to talk to, but since most of them were civilian women, natives to the country who had no other hospital to go to, none of them particularly wanted to talk to her. She didn’t really blame them, to be honest. 

But she missed Ryan, missed his easygoing demeanor and straightforward way of seeing things—not to mention she was dying to get the three of them together to hack out an actual plan going forward. Separated like this, they were all just stumbling along in the dark.

Dr. Brooks’ eyebrows rose at her apparent enthusiasm. “Not quite so fast, Miss Khan. We prefer to take things one step at a time, make sure you can stand on your own two feet—we can’t have you crashing to the floor on the first step. Your nurse will come by later to assist you.”

“Oh.” Yaz gulped, and sunk back into her pillows, stung by twin disappointments—the first, that she still didn’t have control over her own mobility, and the second, that was going to have to work with Mae Smith in order to get it back. She was tempted to groan, but knew it would be unseemly. “I understand. Thank you, doctor.”

———

The next time Mae Smith came in to do her rounds, Yaz watched with a sinking heart as she went around the entire room, arriving at Yaz’s bed last.

“Heard you’re going to walk today.” She grinned at Yaz, who, despite the twisting in her stomach felt her face grow hot. She wasn’t sure if it was due to the awkwardness of what was about to come, or part of the disappointment she always felt watching Mae Smith imitate the Doctor.

“So I’ve been told.” Her returning smile was only a little forced. “Assuming I don’t fall on my face, according to Dr. Brooks.”

Mae laughed. “He is a bit dramatic, isn’t he?” she waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t mind him, he just likes to play it safe. Which is really a good thing, if a bit frustrating. Trust me, if I’d been in that bed I would’ve been climbing up the walls three days ago, probably.”

_I bet you would have,_ Yaz thought, but out loud she said, “Yeah, I suppose. So how do I start? Just stand up?”

She had already half thrown her sheets off of her, and was about ready to swing her legs over the side to touch the ground, when Mae put a firm hand on her arm. “Right, not _that_ fast. Well, I suppose you can sit up and put your legs over the side if you want, but I’ve got to take your weight when you stand up, see? And you should move slowly, not like you’ve got a train you’re bout to miss. We’ve got time, Yaz. Nowhere I need to be.”

She said the last part in a soft voice, encouraging and kind, and Yaz could have screamed. She looked up into the Doct— _Mae Smith’s_ — eyes, and saw the same reassuring look reflected in them. Take away the uniform dress, and it was the Doctor. Yaz realized suddenly that she was gritting her teeth, and her hand was still twisted in the sheets, clenched hard enough to turn her knuckles white. She loosened her grip slowly, and let out a breath.

“Sorry. I’m just excited, I guess. Been dying to get out of this bed.” She began to move without waiting for a reply, but forced herself to go slowly, bringing her legs over the side with extra caution, and wincing as they hit the cold floor. To her slight chagrin, Yaz realized that Mae had been right; the movements, more than she had done in the past few days, sent pain shooting up her legs. It was, however, considerably less than before, and that she considered a win.

“Alright, steady goes.” Mae’s arm was around Yaz’s shoulders before her feet even touched the floor, and her next words tickled her ear. “Now get your arm over my shoulder, like— _per_ fect. You’re doing great Yaz, really.”

Yaz nodded, heart thumping for no reason at all. Mae’s close proximity was jangling her nerves, turning her apprehensive. She couldn’t decide if it was because she didn’t want to look stupid not knowing how to walk, or because she still wasn’t sure how to maintain a proper facade of non-familiarity. Every moment one-on-one— _really_ one-on-one—was another moment that she could give herself away.

It was enough to make anybody’s heart pound.

She brought her arm over Mae’s shoulder, just as she’d been told to do, and balled her hand into the fabric of her sleeve. Mae didn’t seem to mind at all. “’Kay, got a good grip? Now just try and stand up, when you’re ready.”

Yaz didn’t bother dragging it out. She stood up just as she would have if she’d been getting out of bed on any regular morning, and instantly felt her mistake. Pain shot up her calves, right to her shins, and Yaz bit back a cry. She felt herself drop, but instead of collapsing completely ended up clinging to Mae, who simply tightened her grip and let Yaz sag into her side.

“Ow,” Yaz moaned, unable to help herself. “You were right.”

“Course I was,” Mae answered cheerily. “Bout what?”

“I can’t walk on my own.”

“Not if you stand up like that, you can’t.” With her arm still around Yaz’s shoulders she gave her an upward nudge, indicating that she try and stand. “You’ve got to do it slowly, or it’ll all come as a shock. Trust me, you’re not the first patient I’ve done this with, and they’re all the same, or at least the men. Think they’ve got to be tough, don’t they? Then they just get embarrassed when they fall straight on their faces.”

“Okay, I get it. So should I try again?”

“Well, we can sit down and take a break if you’d like.” Yaz immediately shook her head. Mae glanced at her, and then chuckled. “Alright, let’s keep on. You can keep your weight against me if you’d like, but try and slowly put some of that on your feet instead. It’ll hurt, but well—”

“Right. Just keep on keeping on.” Yaz clenched her jaw. Without pulling away from Mae’s support, she gingerly moved her feet into a good position to hold her weight, and then slowly began to lean into them. With every movement her calves responded by throwing up a terrible pain, but as she placed more and more weight on them, letting herself move away from Mae’s support—though she still kept her arm around her just in case—the sharp pain eventually died down into a dull burning which Yaz found much easier to handle. 

“Alright—think I’ve got it now,” she said through a still-clenched jaw. She and Mae were still locked together, but her weight was now more or less on her own two feet. “Do I start walking now?”

“One step at a time,” Mae answered, and must have felt Yaz sink minutely in disappointment, for she added, “Unless you want to prove me right again? If so, I’ll start placing bets.”

That was such a Doctor-ish response that Yaz found herself caught in the strange position of swallowing a laugh while her chest felt like it were cleaving itself in two. She wondered if there was any part of Mae Smith that couldn’t be found in the Doctor, or if she was just what happened if you scrubbed out the Doctor’s memories and made her think she was human.

Mae must have heard her laugh, because there was a grin in her voice when she spoke again. “Don’t mind me, I could use the money. Now, whenever you’re ready, like I said. One step—”

“At a time. Got it.” Yaz nodded and looked down at the floor, brow furrowed in more concentration than she figured was warranted to such a simple task. Still, the thought of falling face-first right in front of the Doctor—Mae Smith—was enough to keep her extremely focused on the task at hand. She lifted one trembling foot, and placed it down, waiting for the pain. There wasn’t any, bar a small flare-up in that constant, burning ache, when her foot hit the floor. So she took another step. Then another, this time turning with the help of Mae to get out between the two hospital beds and into the main aisle.

“There you go,” Mae said approvingly, as they turned out into the aisle. “Pretty good for a first-timer.”

“And hopefully not a second-timer,” Yaz managed to respond. It was tiring, she realized, taking even a few steps after not having moved for the past few days. “Can I try standing on my own now?”

“Mmm…” Mae hesitated over this, glancing between Yaz and the open floor. She glanced again at Yaz, who mustered up the most winning expression she could, and wavered. “Oh alright, but— _please_ take it slowly. I was joking around before, it’s really on me if you end up on the floor.”

“’Course, ‘course,” Yaz agreed quickly. “So… do I just walk away from you?”

Mae’s brow wrinkled. “Well, you’re mainly standing on your own weight, so take your arm off me—” she waited as Yaz complied. “—there, got it? Stable enough?”

“Yeah, stable enough.” Yaz brought her arm down to her side, wobbling only slightly at her sudden freedom of movement. She really was only supporting her weight now, Mae’s arm on her shoulder more of a comfort than anything.

“Okay, now I’m going to let you go—” she slowly drew her arm away, watching carefully as Yaz swayed a bit under the sudden lack of pressure. She didn’t quite take it away completely, but let her arm hover, waiting to catch Yaz if she fell. “—you seem pretty steady to me now, I really hope you’re not pulling a fast one. How d’you feel?”

“Good, I think.” Yaz focused on the ground in front of her, the drab stone which had probably not been anything much grander than a hospital room in its previous life, and took a step. She was trembling, she realized, but more from the cold than anything. A hospital gown didn’t do much against the draft.

But her legs held, so she took another step, and another, minding Mae’s warning about going too fast. Mae walked right by her side, arms still hovering, ready to catch her if she fell. It was a reassuring enough sight that Yaz kept going. She reached the door to the room, turned around—and ran right into Mae, who caught her arms, steadying her.

“How am I doing?” she couldn’t prevent a smile from splitting her face. “Across the room on the first walk—that has to be good, right? Think I could go visit my friend by tomorrow?”

Mae gave a low whistle, clearly impressed. “ _I’ll_ say. Yaz—you did brilliant. Couldn’t have done better myself, and I haven’t been lying in bed with holes in my leg. Hell, few more days and you could start training with me. Not to rush, but—we need the hands.”

“Oh, yeah. Training.” Yaz’s grin slid off her face. Minus the joy of finally being mobile, the idea of starting work in a few days only filled her with dread. Once she was fully instated as a nurse, she would have no way to avoid the two dangers that kept her up at night; being around Mae while not giving away that she knew her, and avoiding suspicion when it became clear that Yaz didn’t know a single thing about nursing.

Mae saw her expression shift, and she gave her a reassuring squeeze on the arm. “Hey, Yaz, don’t let the nerves get you. Everybody’s scared starting out—including me. But you learn on the job, and everything you don’t know, I’ll teach you. And anyways, you seem like you’re pretty sharp, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“Yeah, that makes sense—and, uh, thanks.” Yaz gulped, and managed to pull her smile back on her face. She wondered if Mae would think the same of her once she actually saw Yaz working. And then she wondered why she cared what Mae Smith thought of her. 

Mae was still watching her, a smile on her face and her gaze thoughtful, as if considering something. Then she glanced down and seemed to notice she was still holding Yaz, her hands catching her arms just above the elbows. It was a steadying feeling—only, Yaz realized, she didn’t need it. She was standing on her own.

“Oh, sorry,” Mae laughed and dropped them immediately. A faint color appeared in her cheeks. “Forgot you’re independent now.”

“It’s all right,” Yaz told her honestly. “It’s actually kind of tiring, all the walking. I didn’t expect it to be, though.”

“It’s like that the first day,” Mae admitted, and reached out to take Yaz’s arm again. Then she pulled it back, and a mischievous glint appeared in her eye. “Think you can make it back to bed all on your own?”

Yaz wrinkled her nose. “That depends. Are we taking bets on it?”

Mae laughed—another very Doctor-ish laugh, Yaz couldn’t help but note, though it hurt less this time around—and stepped aside, gesturing for her to go ahead. “I’ll be nice to you, but only because I know they haven’t started paying you yet.”

Yaz smiled and began to shuffle back to her bed, taking low, painstaking steps. It was only after she finally made it, and Mae took her leave, throwing one last grin her way, did Yaz realize she’d had fun. That Mae Smith, though she wasn’t the Doctor, was similar enough to give Yaz pause, similar enough for her to feel the hurt of the Doctor’s absence a lot less, though nothing had really changed. 

It was an uncomfortable revelation. Yaz sucked in a worried breath, and blew it out again, frowning. She shouldn’t let the similarities get to her—she _couldn’t._ She had to differentiate the two in her head—it could only complicate things otherwise.

The problem was, the more Yaz turned over the differences in her head, the more the two seemed to blur into one.

———

“No, not like _that_ —!” two hands snatched up the dressings he had been about to toss. Ryan bit back a groan. 

“What did I do wrong this time?” Mentally, he reviewed all of his actions prior. Gloves on, check. Bag doubled, check. Making sure not to let any of the used bandages make contact with his bare skin—check.

Corporal Stewart, a towering, barrel-chested man whose first name Ryan apparently hadn’t been deigned important enough to hear, jabbed a finger at the dressings still on the bed. “If you don’t have enough hands to take them all at once, you sure as hell can’t just leave them lying anywhere on the bed. You want to strip the man’s sheets, too?”

“I…” Ryan’s eyes traveled from the site of the wound, where a nurse had just been by to redress the wound, and the spot by the man’s foot where he’d set the bandages down, only for a moment, in order to use two hands to open the heavy disposal bag. It had made sense at the time, but now under his trainer’s stern glare, it seemed an incredibly stupid mistake. “Sorry. What am I supposed to do with them, then?”

The corporal sighed, and raised his hand towards his face, as if he were tempted to massage his temples. His hands were gloved however, and contaminated from the many wound dressings they’d been handling, so he just sighed and brought his hand back down. “Why d’you think there are two of us? You could’ve asked me to take the bag, and then picked up the dressings—or the opposite. Now, pay attention—”

His hand swept over the man, who, despite his heavily bandaged face, managed to give Ryan an extremely apprehensive look. Ryan gave him what he hoped was an apologetic look, and turned his attention back to Stewart. Since starting his training that morning, he’d quickly picked up that the corporal’s way of imparting lessons or ‘pearls of wisdom’ always started with the words ‘Now, pay attention—’.

“This man has been hit in several different areas. See the head, the legs, and the chest? We can’t cross-contaminate any of those areas. So when you take the used dressings from his chest,”—his finger pointed towards the dressings Ryan had so carelessly misplaced— “And put them by the injuries on his legs, even if they’ve been dressed, you risk cross-contamination. And if anything’s festering up there, we don’t want to bring it down there.” His finger slid down to the heavy bandages on the man’s legs. “Understand?”

Ryan nodded. “Yeah, I think—uh, yes corporal. I got it.”

The corporal surveyed him for a moment, beady eyes running over Ryan’s face, as if trying to pick out some hint of dishonesty or sarcasm. His beard twitched, and then he let out a grunt of affirmation.

“Good. Don’t make the same mistake again.” 

“I definitely won’t—corporal.” And he meant it. Because in retrospect, the explanation made sense—and Ryan didn’t exactly enjoy looking like an idiot, something which had happened a lot the past few hours. 

Though to be fair, the last thing Ryan had expected upon waking, in a hospital no less, was to be informed that he would be attached to the ward as a medical orderly. And it had only taken him a few scant days in bed observing the orderlies to realize that it was the last thing he wanted to do. Ryan didn’t like germs, nor did he like messing up and looking stupid—and definitely not the two entwined. Unfortunately, this new job seemed to consist entirely of the two.

Corporal Stewart glanced at the man in bed, who did not seem at all reassured by his lesson, and then looked around the ward. “He was the last one, so I’ll take the disposal bag. You—grab the mop in the corner and get going. I want the floor so clean you could eat off it.”

Oh, and there was also the cleaning. Ryan nearly grimaced, but then remembered that Stewart was watching him, so he just handed over the bag and said. “Clean floor—got it.”

Stewart left, and Ryan waited only a few moments before letting out a quiet sigh and going to grab the mop. It was located in a small alcove at the back of the room, and was obviously used to store cleaning supplies, for he also found a tarnished silver bucket and a few promising looking soaps. There was also a sink, which he used to fill the bucket, and then went ahead and added the most likely looking soap. It sudsed up once it hit the water, to which Ryan figured he was on the right track.

The room was unfairly large, and with the cluttered array of beds, bedside tables, and other various medical equipment, mopping it proved to be an onerous task. It gave him time to think as well, which wasn’t something he had come to savor recently. For the past few days, thinking usually meant worrying, and there was plenty to worry about.

First off, there was the Doctor—who wasn’t the Doctor apparently, but just an ordinary nurse named Mae Smith. Who didn’t even realize who she was meant to be. Ryan had tested this several times already, taking the chance whenever Mae Smith did her rounds to try and engage her in some conversation. It wasn’t a hard thing to do because, like the Doctor, she was an easy chatterer. 

Actually, sometimes it was nearly impossible to distinguish between the two. They both had the same smile, the same laugh, the same quick wit, and the same inherent compassion. Sometimes Mae would make a joke, or gesture in a way that was so utterly like the Doctor that Ryan had to bite his lip to keep from calling her by the wrong name. He had never given it thought before—why would he?—but he figured, if somebody had gone and turned the Doctor into a human, Mae Smith was probably exactly who he’d imagine.

But human was the key word, because there was something very human about Mae Smith, and something incredibly _not_ about the Doctor; and it was only now, in its absence, that Ryan had really come to notice it. Because the Doctor, no matter who she really was, had a restless sort of confidence—some would call it cockiness—which was both completely sincere and definitely a facade. The Doctor was quirky in a very palatable way, until she was suddenly not, and it was a switch Ryan thought he had only seen maybe once or twice before. And it occurred to him now, after observing Mae Smith, that the Doctor walked around as if she wore her heart on her sleeve while keeping a dozen dark secrets in her back pocket, and Mae did neither. 

Mae Smith, Ryan was certain, hid nothing out of the ordinary. Well, other than the fact that she was secretly a time-traveling alien, but he also didn’t think that she knew that herself.

_All of which,_ Ryan thought miserably as he plunged the mophead into the bucket, pulled it out again, and began his swabbing, _just means that we’re stuck here. After all, we’ve got no TARDIS, no Doctor, and we can’t even get together to plan. How can we do anything if we can’t talk to each other?_

That was the issue with secret identities. They worked alright, until you actually had to keep up pretenses. Graham had been the go-between for the three, but he was now off doing admin work (something Ryan had just barely refrained from teasing him mercilessly about), and for all he knew, Yaz was still bedridden. He himself had only been allowed up and about that very morning, and they had immediately put him to work.

Perhaps he could finish the mopping quickly, and then sneak over to Yaz’s room. Ryan paused for a moment, considering the idea, and then glanced across the room. He wasn’t even a quarter of the way done. And even if he finished quickly, odds were good that the corporal would return and give him another task before he had the chance to slip away.

Ryan blew out a frustrated breath, and turned back to his mopping. He started up again, now washing up and down the aisles between the hospital beds, when something caught his eye.

Or rather, someone. He looked up, and directly into the eyes of another wounded soldier, who met his gaze and didn’t drop it.

Ryan blinked. “Uh, hi.” 

The man blinked too, but didn’t respond. The moment turned awkward immediately. Ryan dropped his gaze, and his eyes traveled quickly over the man’s wounds. He didn’t seem too badly off, with only two wounds that Ryan could see; one on his arm, and another bandage wrapped over his one ear. It didn’t look very well done, for shocks of dark brown hair were visible between the lines of the bandages going round his head. 

And he was still staring at Ryan. 

“You okay, mate?” Ryan tried again, and met his eyes for the second time. They were green, he thought, and strangely bright—though for what reason, he couldn’t say. “I could get a nurse, if you…want…”

He trailed off, unsure of what to add with the man’s clear gaze fixed so steadily upon him. Another awkward second passed, and then the man suddenly broke off his staring and looked down.

“So sorry,” he said in a strangely flat tone. “Didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“Huh?” Ryan asked. “No, s’alright, I wasn’t frightened, just thought you wanted a nurse, or something…”

But the man didn’t seem to be paying attention any longer. He was staring now at his wounded arm, at the bandages wrapped around it. As Ryan watched, he tried to flex it but then winced in pain.

_Maybe I should call a nurse,_ Ryan thought, but before he had time to consider the idea further, a familiar voice came from behind him.

“Ryan?”

“Yaz?” Ryan spun around, and nearly slipped on his own wet floor. Yaz hurried towards him, frowning as she tried to keep the hem of her long gray and white dress from dragging through the wet floor. The expression on her face changed to excitement as she neared, and then teasing disapproval.

“What, you’re up and about but you don’t care to come say hi?”

Ryan stepped out of the aisle, and shook the mop handle in his hand. “Does it look like I’m free?”

Yaz grinned. “Oh, so that’s what the orderlies do then? I’ve been wondering.”

Ryan rolled his eyes. “Oh, come off it.” He stepped back to pointedly examine her uniform, raising an eyebrow as he took in the long sleeves and hem, as well as the unflattering color. “So that’s what nurses wear, then?”

“Oh, like you haven’t seen!” she made a face at him, which he answered with a grin. “And I’ve been asking to see you, by the way, only they wouldn’t let me. Had to get back on my feet and all that.”

“Oh right—me too.” Ryan’s smile faded somewhat. “How’re you doing then? Still hurt?”

“Sort of.” Her face fell slightly, and she pointed towards her legs, hidden beneath the folds of her dress. “Got it mostly in my legs, so I had to practice walking a bit. Hurt like hell, but it’s getting better—I mean, I can pretty much walk now, so that’s something. You?”

He held his arms up for inspection. “Mostly in the arms, so I skipped the no-walking bit. It’s a pain though, yeah. Lucky Graham though, he got away without a scratch.”

Yaz shook her head. “The nerve.”

“Yeah.” Ryan smiled, shaking his head. “God Yaz, there’s so much we’ve got to catch up on. You hear Graham’s in admin?”

Yaz nodded. “Course, told me himself, only now with his job he can barely see us. _We_ can barely see each other.” She gestured towards her dress, and then towards Ryan’s mop. On the next words, she lowered her voice to a whisper. “If we can’t work together, how are we going to help, you know—”

“The Doctor?” Ryan whispered. “I—wait.”

He glanced around to see if anybody was watching, and his gaze lingered over the strange man who’d been staring at him. To his relief, his eyes were now closed, but Ryan didn’t want to take chances. “Come with me.”

He tilted his head toward the alcove from which he’d drawn the water and the mop, and with a beckoning gesture, started towards it. Yaz followed him back, and he waited until they were safely hidden—or as much as they could be—before continuing. “You saw her, yeah? Graham said you agreed with my idea.”

“Yeah, I think so,” Yaz answered back, then gave a rueful shake of her head. “The Chameleon Arch, and everything—I’ve been turning it over a bit in my head, and it makes a lot of sense. I can’t believe I didn’t think about it before.” 

“Nah, don’t be like that,” Ryan whispered. “We were all knocked around quite a bit. Problem is, now we’ve got no TARDIS, no Doctor, and no way to get Mae Smith to realize who she really is. So what are we supposed to do?”

“ _Ac_ -tually—” Yaz had an unpleasant look on her face, as if she didn’t really savor what she was about to say. “I think I can help at least with that last one. Or I can try.”

Ryan stared at her, bewildered. “You’re gonna convince Mae she’s the Doctor?”

“No, but—” Yaz scowled, though it seemed more at the idea than Ryan. “They assigned her to me as my mentor, so she’s going to teach me to be a nurse. And I’ll be with her all the time, I bet.”

Her face twisted as she delivered this bit of news as if it were something negative, but Ryan didn’t see how it could be. “Yaz, that’s brilliant! You can keep close to her, try and trigger some memory—why, what’s wrong? That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day, probably.”

“No, it’s just—” she stopped, and then opened her mouth as if she were about to say something again, when a rustle from the room brought them both immediately into a hush. Ryan peeked around the partition protecting the alcove, towards the hospital beds, but saw only a patient turning over in his bed. He looked back to Yaz. 

“Nothing suspicious. Sorry, you said—?”

“Nothing. No seriously, nothing. It’s only that I was thinking about why the TARDIS sent us here, and what the Doctor’s hiding from—cos she’s got to be hiding from something, right?”

“It makes sense.” Ryan frowned. “You saying it’s better to let her keep on being human?”

“No!” Yaz answered quickly, and a little too loudly. She lowered her voice on the next words. “I mean, I think we have to be on the lookout for anything suspicious. Any alien type thing, you know? And try and keep the Doctor away from—whatever it is.”

“Yeah,” Ryan said, and gave a small smile. “You know, I feel like that’ll be a lot easier with her as a human than it would if she were alien still.”

“You might be right,” Yaz replied, though she still didn’t seem too happy with the idea. “So how about we try and meet up once a day or something, and tell the others if we’ve seen something suspicious? We can say by the supply closet maybe, ‘round four in the afternoon.”

“I’ll pass it on to Graham,” Ryan said, and then hesitated. “Actually Yaz, there was—”

“Private Sinclair!” An angry voice rung throughout the room. They both jumped, and then Ryan groaned.

“It’s my ‘mentor’,” he told Yaz, and put his fingers up in quotation marks to drive the point home. She pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh. “See you tomorrow?”

She nodded, and then gestured for him to go. “Distract him, and I’ll wait here a bit and make it look like I was coming to get some rags.”

“Doubt he’ll buy that, but whatever,” Ryan said, and then winced again as his name rung throughout the room. It wasn’t overly loud, so as not to disturb the patients, but the lack of patience was clear in Stewart’s tone. “Kay, see ya Yaz!”

He ducked out of the alcove with mop in hand, the bucket having been left in the center of the room where he’d last used it. Yaz stayed more or less hidden, and waited as long as she dared while the corporal berated Ryan, before finally grabbing some rags and ducking out of the alcove, trying not to look sheepish. Unfortunately, the corporal caught sight of her immediately.

“Just went to fetch some rags,” she offered by way of an explanation, and then slid quickly by him, ignoring his shell-shocked expression. She risked a glance back only once she was at the door, and cringed guiltily as Ryan shot her a devastating glare.

_You couldn’t have waited a bit longer?_ His eyes seemed to say. She gave him a tiny shrug of apology—she also had duties to get back to—and then smothered a snigger at the corporal’s face. He was turning purple.

She closed the door behind her just as the sounds of another angry tirade, something about ‘girls and cleaning supplies’, hit her ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> half of yaz's pov was me just writing it out and then shaking my head and being like 'yaz. that's gay'


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for another short one guys, this is mainly just thasmin being gay for each other. being gay, and not realizing it

“So did you get to see your friend?”

The casual question took Yaz completely off guard. Her eyes flew up from Mae’s arm, upon which she was meant to be practicing different types of dressings, and met her clearly knowing gaze.

“I—” it was too late to lie. She could see it in Mae’s eyes, and her ears burned at the accusation, which immediately eliminated any chance of getting away with it. “How did you know?”

Mae gestured towards the rags wrapped around her arm. “These are cleaning rags. I asked you to get wound dressings. Doesn’t make much of a difference for practice anyways, but you were gone too long as well. The supply closet’s right next door.”

“Oh.” Yaz’s whole face was burning now at getting caught. She had always been terrible at that—Sonia was the one who never cracked under parental pressure. She would stubbornly maintain her story all the way to the time-out chair (or grounding, once they got older), whilst Yaz always confessed under the first probing question. Just like now. Except now she was supposed to be under cover, and any sort of infraction would only complicate the entire situation for her. “I’m sorry. Really. It’s only that I wanted—”

Mae’s quiet chuckle cut her off, and Yaz paused. “Wait. Aren’t you mad?”

“Well, I am supposed to be.” Mae lifted her bandaged arm, now that Yaz wasn’t carefully attempting to fix a bandage on it, and began to unwrap the rag. “But the thing is, it’s not that unusual. And it’s hardly professional, which I think is what really matters—but I can’t really stop you without reporting you, and that would just get us both in trouble. So I’m sort of stuck, you see?”

Yaz didn’t. Then the pin dropped. “No. Wait. Do you think I’m— _seeing_ Ryan?”

Now it was Mae’s turn to look confused. “Aren’t you?”

“Wh—No!” Yaz accompanied the denial with a vigorous shake of her head. “No! We’re just friends—friends from home, is all. Not seeing each other. Ever.”

And it was funny, but she really didn’t like the thought that the Doctor, or Mae, or either of them, thought she and Ryan were together. Not that she was against Ryan, but—it was weird. 

“Oh.” Mae nodded at this revelation, and then a relieved smile spread across her face. “Oh—that’s really good. Really, really good. Because I thought I was going to have to discipline you, and I’m terrible at that sort of thing, so—”

“Yeah, definitely,” Yaz agreed. “No, no need for that. He’s just a friend. Promise.”

“Alright then.” She still sounded relieved, but when Yaz risked meeting her gaze, she caught Mae eying her thoughtfully, a curious look in her eyes. She had no idea what it meant.

“So where’s home then?”

“Huh?”

“You said you knew him from home?” she gestured vaguely towards the door, as if to indicate the direction of England. “So where’s that then? England? Or—”

“Definitely England,” Yaz replied hastily, before Mae had the chance to finish. “Nope, I’m a Sheffield gal, born and bred. Lived there my whole life. Ryan as well—we were in primary school together.”

Yaz realized belatedly that she should go with something a tad more believable—but she couldn’t. It felt too much like lying to the Doctor, who was _supposed to know these things,_ and the lack of reaction from Mae—who just nodded, listening—hurt to see, even though she knew that she shouldn’t be taking it personally. 

But it didn’t even matter, because there was no flicker of recognition in Mae’s eyes. “Sheffield, huh? You know I nearly guessed, with your accent. Never been there myself, though.”

_Yes you have,_ Yaz corrected silently. Instead she forced a smile. “Well, you’re welcome anytime.”

Mae laughed, and was still laughing as she began to gather up the bandages—or rather, rags—strewn about upon the table they’d been using to practice. “Right, soon as the war ends. I’ll hold you to that, Yaz—don’t expect not to see me up there for tea. And I won’t be announcing my arrival, either.”

The words _you never do,_ floated to the tip of Yaz’s tongue, but she bit them back and leaned over the table to help Mae gather up the rags. “Should I take these back to the other room, then?”

Mae glanced at her watch. “Nah, it’s a bit late for that—shift’s about over, and I should probably show you our quarters before it gets too dark. We can pop by the cleaning supply closet on the way and toss them there. Oh, and I can show you where we store the actual bandages as well.”

The last comment was accompanied by a sly wink tossed in Yaz’s direction, who blushed at the reminder of her earlier lie. She busied herself again in folding and gathering up the rags, not that there was much to do, and then followed Mae out of the room, which had already begun to darken during their conversation.

It wasn’t until they had already stored the cleaning rags, and Mae had shown a sheepish Yaz the supply closet (which was considerably closer to their room than Ryan’s had been), when a question occurred to her.

“Mae—” Yaz took a half-step to catch up with her, putting the two in a line. She had been following behind Mae, who strode ahead in a way that put Yaz immediately in mind of the Doctor, leading them all confidently into probably life-or-death situations, as they tagged along just behind. Only Mae wasn’t leading her into any hair-raising situations, but rather down an increasingly confusing set of corridors towards their quarters, which she’d promised were ‘alright, not much compared to what the patients get, obviously, but we make do.’

“Hmm?” Mae slowed her walk, and glanced over at Yaz. As she did, the light caught her profile just so, illuminating the soft yellow of her hair and reflecting a sparkle in her hazel eyes. For a moment, Yaz was struck speechless.

“Um—” _she’s beautiful,_ Yaz realized suddenly, and then pushed that thought away, because it certainly wasn’t what she’d meant to say, and even if it was true, it wasn’t something she could just blurt out. Not even to the Doctor. “Oh, um, I wanted to ask—you never told me where you were from.”

“Oh, right—I didn’t say, did I?” Mae frowned, and reached up absently to brush a wayward strand of hair out of her face. Yaz watched her, so mesmerized she almost forgot she was waiting for an answer. “I’m from Gallifrey, which I doubt you’d have heard about either, it’s quite tiny.”

“Huh?” Yaz suddenly realized she was staring and broke her gaze quickly, a faint flush rising in her cheeks. “Oh—no, I haven’t heard of it, you’re right. Is it Irish? It sounds Irish.”

It actually sounded more alien than Irish, and it struck Yaz that perhaps whatever history the Doctor had cooked up for her human alias wasn’t too far off from the real thing. She had no way of knowing, though, and that thought irritated her; despite the fact that the Doctor talked quite a bit, and about everything under the sun, she never talked about herself. Yaz had tried a couple times, asking her about her home planet, but she had never received a straight answer. She had never received any answer, actually.

“Yeah, you’d think it would be Irish, wouldn’t you?” Mae wasn’t looking at Yaz as she answered. She was staring off ahead, her gaze drawn out and thoughtful. “No, it’s a little island off the coast, small population. I left when I was young, though—didn’t really get along with the lot of them, if I’m being honest. They were a stand-offish bunch, didn’t really like going off the island. And me, you know, I wanted to explore.”

“Oh.” Was that Mae’s story, or the Doctor’s? The two were blurring again in her head. And all of her story rung true, in the sense that Yaz could have imagined herself in the TARDIS console room, opposite the Doctor, having this exact conversation—only they’d never had. And that thought, that Mae Smith had inadvertently revealed more about the Doctor’s past than the Doctor ever had, sent in unpleasant shiver up Yaz’s spine.

“But don’t you go back sometimes? To see your family?”

“Nah, they’re long gone. My parents died years back, and I don’t have any siblings so—no reason to visit, I suppose.” She delivered this casually, but Yaz, watching her face, caught just a flicker of something unreadable; not sadness, exactly, but—unease? As if she wasn’t quite sure.

But then she caught Yaz staring at her and whatever it was vanished. Instead she gave a rather subdued smile and said, “Sorry, did I go too pensive for you? Sometimes I get a bit lost in my thoughts.”

“No, I just—” Yaz stammered, and then offered, “I’m sorry. About…your family, and all. Must be tough.”

Mae shrugged. “Don’t be. Like I said, it’s been a while, and—ooh, here we are.”

She stopped suddenly, in front of a plain wooden door, completely identical to every other one they’d passed. Yaz looked at it doubtfully, and wondered if she would be able to find it again on her own. Probably not. They were well into the bowels of the building by now, and she had been too deep into their conversation to pay close attention to the way they’d been going. Something she would almost certainly regret.

Mae pushed the door open, spilling the dim hallway light into an even darker room, and gestured for Yaz to follow her. 

“Some of the girls might be asleep by now, so tread quietly, alright?” she whispered as Yaz stepped inside. She nodded, and squinted against the sudden darkness as Mae let the door swing shut behind them, cutting off the weak light that had seeped in from the hallway.

It wasn’t completely dark—but here it was clear that light here was not considered a necessity as it was upstairs. Light emanated from only a couple lit candles dotting the room, which, as Yaz’s eyes began to adjust, she came to realize was actually incredibly crowded. Three rows of cots were jammed into the room, only about half of which were occupied, and the little navigational space around them had been filled with suitcases, bags, and crates, which appeared to act as extra storage. 

This must be the entire nursing staff of the hospital, Yaz realized—and yet despite how packed it was, there couldn’t be more than thirty beds, only about half of which appeared to be occupied. She wondered briefly where the rest were, and then it occurred to her that they probably had a night shift as well.

Most of the inhabitants appeared to be asleep, but as Mae took Yaz’s hand and led her carefully through the maze of cots to an empty pair about halfway down, one of the shapes nearby stirred, and then sat up.

She looked to be a girl about Yaz’s age, if not a couple of years older, and she sleepily pushed dark curly hair out of her eyes before blinking at them owlishly in the dim light. “Mae, is that you?”

“Hiya Sara,” Mae whispered. “Did we wake you?”

She yawned and shook her head. “No, not really. Are you the new sister, then? Yasmin Khan?”

The second question was directed at Yaz, who hesitated, and then nodded. Sara’s gaze swept over her, scrutinizing, and then she broke into what looked like a small smile, though it was difficult to make out in the dim light.

“Mae’s been talkin’ about you loads.” She yawned, and pointed in her direction. “Don’t let her keep you up alright? She’ll try and rope you into learnin’ chemistry all hours if you let her. Burns all her candles down to the stubs, too.”

“Oh shut it, Sara,” Mae hissed. She had been digging in a crate of belongings as she spoke, and now pulled out something that looked like a matchbook, which she used to strike a light to a candle. “S’not like it’s your candles I’m using up. And I stopped nagging you about it, didn’t I?”

Sara shrugged, and stretched back out on her cot, pulling the blanket once more over her frame. “Mmhm. You be careful Yasmin, she’ll have you reciting lectures before you go to sleep.”

“It’s Yaz, actually.” Not that it made much difference, for Sara already appeared to be asleep, or well on the way to it. Yaz glanced at Mae, and was surprised to find her blushing. It was an unfamiliar look on the Doctor’s features, but remarkably endearing, enough to bring a smile to Yaz’s face, which she tried to hide without much success. This only caused Mae to deepen another shade of red, and she made a show of suppressing a cough.

“Don’t mind Sara.” The whisper was ostensibly meant for Yaz, but Mae’s glare was fixed on Sara’s back. “She just doesn’t think it’s necessary to _expand_ our body of knowledge, even if it helps the patients—”

An answering grumble, which sounded suspiciously like “expand your sleeping hours” came from Sara’s sleeping form. This time Yaz couldn’t keep a small laugh from escaping her.

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” She wasn’t sure who she was directing that towards, but Mae seemed to take it as her own victory, and stuck her tongue out at Sara’s form. Illuminated only by the single candle she held in her hand, she looked like the world’s most ineffective ghost. Yaz swallowed another chuckle, then pointed at the candle she was holding aloft.

“Mae, do you have another…?”

“What—oh!” Mae snapped out of her one-sided glaring contest and immediately handed her candle over to Yaz. “Here, take this one. I’ve got more, or at least I think I do—”

She was already bending down as she spoke to rifle through the crate nearby her bed, which Yaz assumed to hold her belongings. “I’ve filched some things from supply for you—”

Without looking she flung a handful of clothes towards Yaz, who barely had time to register them as sleep garments before ducking to avoid a nightdress coming in dangerously close to snuff out her candle. It landed on her shoulder and she peeled it off to examine it, finding with some relief that it didn’t appear to be too fancy, nor too thin. It was white, and a few faded stains and threadbare areas marked it as secondhand. Yaz wondered briefly where its previous owner had gone, and then decided it best to put such a thought out of her mind.

“Bedding’s on your cot there—” Mae pointed without glancing back towards the cot Yaz was standing next to. She brought the candle low, until the weak light proved the existence of a couple raggedy blankets folded neatly on top of an off-white pillow, minus the pillowcase. The clothes Mae had tossed her were strewn about the bed as well, a mix of extra nightgowns, one additional uniform dress, and some undergarments. Probably all secondhand. Yaz tried not to shudder at the thought.

“—and you can keep the candle, I've got an extra here.” The sound of a match striking demonstrated her point, and Yaz looked up to see Mae smiling once more, her eyes glittering in the soft light of the tiny flame. For the second time that evening the words _she’s beautiful_ flashed across her mind, and then she forcefully shut them away.

_Why do you care, Yaz? She’s not even the Doctor, don’t you remember? She’s just a fake—a temporary identity._

Right. Not real. Yaz pushed away those thoughts, and tried to refocus.

“Thanks.” She looked down at her cot, and then at the nightgown in her hands. “Er, I don’t suppose you can—”

Mae stared at her, before her gaze darted towards the nightgown in her grip, and understanding dawned on her face. She spun around, her hurried apologies floating back in a frantic whisper. “Oh, right! ‘Course, sorry I wasn’t thinking—”

“It’s fine.” Yaz whispered in return, and began to shuck her dress as quickly as she could, hyper-aware of the flush that was coming over her. She could already feel her cheeks burning—and she would have bet a month’s pay that Mae was having the same reaction. Something about the thought was inexplicably pleasing. 

Yaz got dressed quickly. 

She finished before Mae, and straightened up, only to realize that she was looking straight at Mae’s bare shoulders as she pulled her nightgown up, which meant she was looking at _the Doctor, getting dressed—_

Yaz spun around to face the opposite direction, closing her eyes even though the image of the Doctor’s—no, Mae’s—oh, who was she kidding, it was all one and the same—bare shoulders and back were burned onto the insides of her eyelids.

“You can turn around now, Yaz.” Mae’s soft whisper reached her ears, and she did so, praying that Mae wouldn’t notice her red face in the dim light. Fortunately, she didn’t seem to, or at least she made no comment on it. Instead she set her candle carefully on the crate beside her bed and began to unfold the blankets on her cot. Yaz did the same, watching the way she carefully laid them out each one.

As soon as Yaz finished she slipped under the layers, not even caring that the material was scratchy, or that the blankets had a strange dusty smell. The minute she laid down, exhaustion overcame her, and the ache in her legs, which had faded to the background as she’d grown used to walking throughout the day, made itself known again. In fact, it seemed to be making up for lost time. Yaz muffled a groan, and rolled onto her side, to face Mae’s cot.

But Mae hadn’t gotten into bed. Instead she perched on the edge of her cot, her candle placed on a nearby crate, and what looked like an enormous volume balanced on her knees—of what, Yaz didn’t know. She squinted, but it was impossible to discern any details from the book’s incredibly small type.

“Mae,” she called out in a low whisper. “What are you reading?”

“It’s chemistry,” Mae waved a distracted hand in Yaz’s general direction. “Don’t worry, I won’t bother you with it. You’ve had a long day, best you get some sleep.”

Her immediate dismissal was slightly insulting, enough that Yaz half-considered the idea of getting up and going to sit with her, to make her explain exactly what she was reading. Only Yaz had never liked chemistry in school, and she was less interested in what Mae was learning than _why;_ was this some of the Doctor’s latent genius coming out at the odd hour of nearly 10 o’clock? 

But at the same time, exhaustion was steadily and surely creeping up on her, so Yaz didn’t have much time to consider the decision - and the more she did, the more it appeared to her that tomorrow would be just as good as the present time to question Mae about her late-night studies.

She had barely conceded to the decision before sleep overtook her, and the last thing she remembered seeing was the outline of Mae’s form against the candlelight, as she wetted the tips of her fingers with her tongue before turning the page.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> summary of chapter: yaz is gay and in denial. that is all


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys welcome back to your tri-weekly scheduled programming. look forward to more gay flirting, and ominous plot advancing (sort of)

Mae’s eyes were burning, and her candle was melting dangerously low, by the time she tore herself away from her books. It was far later than she usually studied, but she couldn’t resist; the last few nights had been dedicated to drawing up a training table for Yaz, which had taken away several nights of her studying time, and left her itching to open up her books again.

Perhaps Yaz would join her the night after. She yawned, considering this, and closed her book, sliding it carefully into her crate. Unfortunately, if she was anything like the other sisters, she probably wouldn't. Mae had made multiple attempts to convince some of the other nurses to join in her studying, and all to no avail. Most simply didn’t see the point in studying something that wasn’t part of their curriculum. After all, it was the doctors that needed to study chemistry and biology, not the nurses.

Only a few knew that Mae’s goal went beyond just honing her skills as a nursing sister. She had deliberately kept the secret close to her chest, and not only so as to avoid the appearance of favoritism by the hands of Dr. Brooks; painful experience had taught her that divulging such a goal was the easiest way to get laughed at, no matter in what sort of company. And if it wasn’t because she was a woman, then it was because of her social status; and if it wasn’t because of her social status, it was because of her poverty; and if none of those, for whatever reason, could apply, then people would usually just resort to calling her uppity.

But all of that seemed far away at the moment, despite Mae’s unfortunate meeting with Dr. Brooks days before. She had a chance now, she figured, with Yaz, to train her into a great nurse and really get the doctor to pay attention. Maybe he would even write his recommendation for her, at long last. And if he tried to trip her up with questions, or test her knowledge—well, Mae was studying for a reason. 

She yawned again as she blew out her now half-melted candle and crept under the blankets, at last allowing the day’s fatigue to engulf her. It didn’t take long; her eyes slid shut almost immediately. And oddly enough, the last image she saw in her mind’s eye was that of Yasmin Khan, a knowing look in her eye, as she watched Mae demonstrate dressing wounds. Almost as if she knew something she didn’t.

But the image lasted only a fraction of a second, and then it drifted away, taking Mae into unconsciousness with it.

_***_

_She was tied to a chair—no, it was a log, an enormous tree branch and the ties were chains, cold metal links wrapped around her arms and legs and waist. Her feet trailed in the water, and she could feel them starting to go numb. Distantly, she wondered whether she should have snuck her sonic screwdriver into her sock, and then remembered that she’d left it out for a reason; Graham and Ryan and Yaz would almost certainly need it more than she, if she didn’t make it back up._

_Though she would make it back up. She had to._

_A woman in medieval dress glared at her, and Mae—no, who was Mae? She was the Doctor—glared back, though hers was mocking. “Do you have a hanky?”_

_The woman’s glare turned to haughty surprise. “…No.”_

_“Well there’s loads in your bedroom. And an empty medicine bottle. What d’you need all the medicine for, Becka?”_

_The woman stepped closer, snarling. “Know this, Doctor. Once I have dealt with you, I will go after all. Of. Your. Friends.”_

_The Doctor stiffened, but refused to break her gaze. Their gazes stayed locked for several long seconds, and then Becka stepped away and faced the crowd on the other side of the lake. She began to speak, jabbering away with some more nonsense about Satan, but the Doctor wasn’t listening. She flexed her hands against the chains, trying to gauge their tightness._

_Pretty tight._

_“…his agent sits before you, the most evil witch in Christendom, and she would call herself the DOCTOR!”_

_Shouts and jeers went up over the crowd. The Doctor looked across the lake, towards the mass of people currently cheering her ducking, and felt her heart sink. Was this really how good the people of Christendom could be?_

_They were frightened. She had to remember that. Just frightened villagers, with nobody to turn to. Facing problems beyond their understanding._

_“…we bring her to justice in front of our great majesty, King James!” This time, the Doctor’s gaze came up, searching the faces of the crowd. Her eyes fell upon her friends, their faces paling with fright as they stared helplessly, and a stab of guilt hit her, but she moved on, searching for the king. When she found him, she found his gaze already upon her. His eyes were dark. Conflicted._

_“Give the word, Sire, and we shall duck the witch and save our souls from Satan, once and for all!”_

_The Doctor refused to look away from the king. Her eyes drilled into his, trying to make him understand, and for a moment, just a second, she could see a flicker of uncertainty flash across his face. And then—_

_“Doctor witch.”_

_The disappointment wasn’t new, but it stung all the same. She felt it burn through her stomach, hot enough to turn to anger—and then she pushed it away, smothering the feeling. He had been so close to being brave, to rising above his fears, but—he’d faltered._

_Oh well. Not every human could be brilliant._

_A sharp intake of breath beside her brought the Doctor’s gaze back to Becka, and as soon as she saw her smug grin, that anger returned. Becka looked pleased as punch, and as her hand moved towards the lever she glared smugly at the Doctor, as if trying to communicate the words ‘I won’, by mere facial expression. It very nearly worked._

_Until a black tear escaped her eye, and rolled down her cheek._

_The Doctor noticed it as soon as Becka did, and gasped, all traces of anger immediately gone._

_“I was right—!”_

_And then Becca pulled the lever, plunging the Doctor into the freezing waters below._

_She barely had time to hold her breath and squeeze her eyes shut before the cold hit her, sending a shock through her entire body. She started to shiver instantly, her body already cringing away from the water, though of course it surrounded her. There was nowhere else to go._

_Time to remain calm. The Doctor opened her eyes to murky blue, pushed any thoughts of panic away, and began to wriggle, just as Houdini had taught her. The chains were tight, but not as tight as they should be, and the ducking had loosened them further. With a painful wrench, one hand came free, and she immediately began working on the other._

_By now, it was quiet enough to hear distant noises from above ground. There were more shouts, increasingly desperate, and the Doctor thought she could hear her friends’ voices among them. It was hard to tell though, and hard to concentrate as well, for stars were beginning to bloom in her vision._

_Funny. She’d thought for sure she’d be able to hold her breath long enough. Both hands were free now, and she was tugging at the chains around her waist, which were coming loose, but slowly, too slowly—_

_Were those her friends calling her from above? She couldn’t tell anymore—or maybe she was hallucinating, because they seemed awfully clear. They were Yaz’s panicked tones, and she desperately wanted to tell her she was alright, but she couldn’t speak, couldn’t breath. Her vision was black, her chest burning, faintly she could feel the last chains slip away, but when she kicked up, something grabbed her arm and pulled her down._

_She began to panic. Her friends’ voices screamed in her ear, Graham and Ryan and Yaz all mixed together but mostly Yaz, loud and worried and clear as bells, and the Doctor opened her mouth to tell her it was alright, she was going to be fine, but then the water rushed in._

_“Get her out of the water!”_

_“Where’s she gone?”_

_“Are you alright?”_

_“Wake up—Doctor—”_

“Doctor!”

Mae woke with a start, springing upright and nearly hitting Yaz in the face, who jerked away just in time. Her hand, which had been wrapped around Mae’s arm as if to shake her awake, came away as well.

“I—Yaz, where—” Mae glanced wildly around the room. She could feel her heart beating fit to burst out of her chest, and for one disorienting moment had no idea where she was. 

“Doc—Mae, are you alright?” A concerned whisper came from her right, and Yaz reached out once more to touch her arm, then seemed to think better of it and drew away. “I didn’t mean to wake you, but—”

“No, it’s—it’s fine. I just…” the absolute darkness receded somewhat as her eyes began to adjust, and slowly Mae began to make out the familiar shapes of the cots and sleeping sisters. “Nothing, sorry. I just had a dream. Sort of a nightmare, really.”

“Oh.” Was it just her imagination, or did a flash of knowing excitement flash across Yaz’s face? By the time Mae focused properly upon her, it was gone, replaced by simple worry. “Want to talk about it?”

“No, s’alright. Thanks for waking me though.” She summoned a smile towards Yaz, even though her heart was still going at a fairly breakneck pace. It had all felt so real. Why had it felt so real? “Bit everyday, really. Dreamed I was dunked in a lake and started drowning. Suppose everybody gets those kinds of dreams once in a while.”

Except she hadn’t just been drowning, she’d been chained to a tree branch for being a witch, and she hadn’t been herself—she’d been the Doctor, somebody completely different, and Mae didn’t know why but she felt like she had dreamed something similar before.

And Yaz was still gazing at her with a strangely knowing look on her face. As if her dream had significance beyond the realm of her subconscious.

“Well, it must’ve been frightening. You were thrashing about as if you were being attacked.” From the look on Yaz’s face, she almost expected something of the sort. “You sure you’re okay?”

Mae didn’t know why, but she studied her face for a moment before answering. Something in Yaz’s concern seemed to go much deeper than casual acquaintanceship, deeper even than working together. As if there was something more profound than simple friendship that ran between them.

Almost as if they’d met before.

“Really Yaz, I’m fine.” And it wasn’t a lie, though Yaz was still staring at her, biting her lip as if she wanted to argue. And in the late-night darkness, her eyes glittering with worry and her lower lip caught between her upper teeth, Mae almost wanted to let her.

It was a stupid dream. Didn’t mean anything more than the others she’d had. But despite the late hour, and despite the fact that they both should be returning to sleep, some small part of her wanted to lean forward and find out just what Yasmin Khan knew.

“We should be getting back to bed though. Shift tomorrow, remember?” 

“Right.” It took Yaz a second longer to drop her gaze. When she did, it was Mae who let her eyes linger upon her, trying to parse out what had passed between them. Or rather, what she was missing. “Goodnight, Mae.”

“Night, Yaz.” Mae lowered herself back on her cot, drawing the scratchy blankets back up to her chin. She rolled over onto her side, facing away from Yaz, and let herself listen to the sounds of her new—friend? Acquaintance? Trainee?—do the same. After a few moments, silence settled over them.

But a couple minutes later, when Mae Smith fell back into sleep, Yaz was in those dreams too.

———

Mae’s dreams woke Yaz the next night too, and the night after that, and it wasn’t long before she began to realize that the dreams were more than just a one-off occurrence. 

And it didn’t take her more than another night to discover that she wasn’t the only one woken up by Mae’s dreams. 

“Don’t wake her,” Sara’s voice came out of the darkness from Yaz’s other side, sleep-worn and wearied. Yaz withdrew her hand but didn’t take her eyes off Mae, who had woken her up with a sudden shout, and was now muttering in her sleep.

“Why not?” She tore her gaze away from Mae and looked to Sara, who yawned.

“Cos its just less sleep for you, yeah?” In the darkness Yaz could just barely make out her shape, huddled under the blankets. “She’s always like that. Dunno why. It’s a right pain though, I get woken up all the time too. If you’re really bothered, see if you can switch beds with someone else.”

“Oh.” Behind her, Mae muttered something that sounded like ‘neurobalancers, can’t take them—’ and Yaz’s stomach dropped. “Why don’t you move then?”

“I told you.” The sound of an enormous yawn came from the direction of her bed, and Yaz couldn’t help but yawn as well. “Can’t be bothered. Besides, don’t want to make her feel bad.”

And with that she turned over on her side, bringing her pillow with her so as to cover her ears. Yaz looked at her, then back at Mae. She hesitated, then sighed, and unhappily followed suit. 

For the next two days, Yaz watched Mae carefully, trying to figure out how to broach the subject of her dreams. It was a difficult task, for she wasn’t quite sure what to make of them; on one hand, they proved that the Doctor was still in there somehow, perhaps locked away in the dark recesses of Mae Smith’s mind. On the other hand, Mae still showed no flicker of recognition when Yaz, unable to resist temptation, began dropping names. Tsurunga got no recognition, other than a remark about it being a funny name for a ship. Neither did Grace, though Mae listened in sympathetic silence to her story as they moved together through rounds, and at the end offered what sounded like her sincere condolences.

It took another two days and sleepless nights before she made a breakthrough. And it happened when, full of frustration and out of ideas, Yaz dropped the name of Tim Shaw.

“Sorry, did you say Tim Shaw?” Mae looked up at Yaz from where she had been poring over a sheath of patient records. They were sitting together in an office, Mae sitting at a desk as Yaz leaned against the wall and watched over her shoulder, ostensibly to learn how to organize and copy down the records. In reality, she was chattering about anything and everything, carefully watching Mae’s reaction as she carefully slid in names meant to be familiar to the both of them.

“Yeah why, d’you know him?” Yaz crossed her arms and tried for casualty, though her heart was pumping with sudden anticipation. She hadn’t expected Mae to recognize him. Did that mean she was starting to remember? Maybe they wouldn’t need to snap her out of it, after all. Perhaps she was coming back all on her own. “He was a…a local criminal from Sheffield, real nasty. Stole a lot of stuff, even killed people.”

“Oh.” Mae looked back down at her notes, slight disappointment coloring her tone. Yaz’s anticipation fizzled. “No, I don’t know him. Never been to Sheffield, remember?”

“Oh, but…” for a moment she considered letting it go, but then stubbornness pressed her on. “Really? Because I could’ve sworn you knew him from the way you reacted. You sure you haven’t heard of him?”

“Well, I—” Mae was staring at the records in front of her, but even to Yaz it was clear that she wasn’t really looking at them. After a moment she sighed and put her pen down, then looked up. She didn’t meet Yaz’s eyes, but instead stared at the candle on her desk, watching the tiny flame flicker. “Oh, you’re going to think I’m daft.”

“No I won’t,” Yaz said immediately, and when Mae didn’t respond, reached out and gave her an encouraging nudge. “Oh c’mon, you’ve got to tell me now.”

“Fine, fine,” Mae laughed, and pushed her away. It was such a friendly gesture that Yaz almost smiled, a real smile, and then caught herself. Since when had she and Mae gotten to be _affectionate?_ It wasn’t as if the Doctor acted that way with Yaz—or at least not this way, not all familiar. The Doctor was friendly, yeah, but not…intimate. “Well if you really want to know, I dreamt about a Tim Shaw not two nights ago. Only in my dream he was an alien, and his face was full of teeth.”

“His face was—” Yaz sucked in a breath, and then realized she was meant to be disgusted, and wrinkled her nose. “Oh, wow. That’s…interesting.”

What was interesting was that she could barely breathe for excitement, but she put that to the side. Mae was looking at her now, uncertainty plain on her features, so Yaz made herself keep talking, even as her thoughts whirled. “Aliens, huh? Are you sure it’s only textbooks you read before bed? Not science fiction?”

Mae shook her head, but her expression relaxed into a grin once she saw that Yaz wasn’t about to laugh at her. “Maybe I’m just imaginative,” she replied, voice turning mischievous. “Or maybe I picked up the name from a newspaper or something. A man like that has to make the news, right? Though it _is_ funny, because…”

“Yeah?” Yaz perked up, leaned forward, before realizing she looked too eager and settling back against the wall. When Mae hesitated again she added, “Might as well say it, now you’ve got me interested.”

Surprisingly, Mae blushed. “Nothing, it’s just…and don’t think I’m crazy, alright? But you were in them too. At least the last couple. I tend to get a lot of vivid dreams, you’ve probably noticed by now.”

“Yeah, I have,” Yaz answered absently. Her thoughts were spinning as she pondered the implications of such a thing. Did that mean the Doctor subconsciously recognized Yaz? That she missed her? Was it some kind of message? “Actually, that sort of makes sense…”

“Huh?”

“What?” Yaz startled from her reverie, and refocused on Mae, who was staring at her, bewildered.

“Oh, I mean—” she backtracked. “Um, it makes sense, because we’re working together a lot. So I would probably show up in your dreams too.”

Mae still looked rather dubious. Yaz tried to think of another, more buyable explanation, and came up with nothing. So instead, before the silence stretched too long, she switched tracks. “Or maybe you just can’t get me out of your head.”

Yaz held her breath, waiting for Mae to call her out, hit her with a suspicious question, but—she didn't. Instead her skeptical gaze switched to surprise—presumably at Yaz’s boldness—and then she abruptly tilted back in her chair, and attempted to sock Yaz on the arm.

“Oh, stop it! Now you're just distracting me on purpose!”

Yaz dodged her blow and laughed, mainly out of relief for her still-intact cover—but also because Mae nearly tipped herself out of her own chair just to reach her. And it was rather funny. Possibly because she could almost imagine the Doctor doing the same thing.

“You—” Once it became clear that Mae couldn’t reach Yaz without getting out of her chair, she settled for throwing a wadded up piece of paper in her direction, which Yaz also dodged, still laughing. “Honestly Yaz, you’re a right flirt, you know that?”—she gestured toward the records in front of her— “We would’ve been done by now if weren’t trying to distract me at every turn!”

Mae’s innocuous comment doused a bucket of cold water over her head. Yaz opened her mouth to reply, then snapped it shut. A slow burn crept its way up her cheeks.

She hadn’t meant—no way. Definitely not.

Yasmin Khan was not, under any circumstances—barring an ill-advised night with Danny Biswas—a _flirt._ Especially not with girls, and especially not with the Doctor’s human alter ego. And beyond that, she definitely wasn’t, not in any way, a flirt with the Doctor. Not that the Doctor would’ve noticed if she was, but…well, that didn’t matter, because she had never actually tried. And not only because the Doctor was several galaxies out of her league.

When Yaz didn’t immediately respond, Mae turned pointedly back to the reports on her desk. Yaz stared unfocusedly at the back of her head, still struck by what she had said. 

Then she reminded herself that Mae could not have been making any real sort of real insinuation, because this was the year 1900, not the year 2018, and there was no way Mae Smith had a twenty-first century view on sexuality. 

At this thought, Yaz calmed down. Of course there was no double meaning behind the words. Mae was just teasing her. And Yaz had not been flirting. She was just being friendly, because that was her current mission; get to know Mae Smith, try and figure out how to turn her back into the Doctor. Nothing beyond that.

“I hope you’re paying attention back there,” Mae’s voice cut through her only-slightly panicky thoughts. “Cos you’re going to have to stand on your own when Dr. Brooks comes to see how it is you don’t know how to fill in a patient record.”

Despite herself, Yaz couldn’t resist the retort that rose to her mind. “Don’t worry. I’ll just have to distract him with my flirting.”

Mae’s surprised laughter filled the room and Yaz grinned, proud of her own wit—and slightly relieved that she had deflected the joke towards a different target. She had safely maneuvered out of the flirting minefield, and back into the joking safety zone. 

Though she couldn’t figure out why she was still blushing.

———

Ryan moved down the aisles as quickly as he could without looking impatient, checking off beds as he went. Keeping a nice face as part of the job wasn’t something he was particularly used to, as there was no call for such in a warehouse. And though his last task of the day wasn’t very rigorous, it was late and he was tired, and his arm still hurt from the shrapnel wounds. And to top it off, he hadn’t seen Yaz or Graham for nearly two days. 

Their first meeting in the supply closet hadn’t gone off, mainly because none of them had been able to find a spare moment to sneak away—and when they did, it wasn’t at the same time. Yaz had arrived early, and caught only a glimpse of Ryan before Mae had come up and dragged her away, giving Ryan no more than a perfunctory hello (which had really hurt, if he was being honest). With Yaz clearly a no-show, Ryan had had nothing left to do except wait as long as he could for Graham to come, but managed only about ten minutes of dawdling before he heard the familiar sounds of Corporal Stewart stomping down the hall. In the end, he hadn’t managed to talk to Graham until the nighttime, and _that_ only succeeded because the enlisted and officer quarters were right next to each other.

They hadn’t been able to meet the day after, nor the day after that, and now it was day three of his new job with no sign of progress in their mission. It was annoying, and bloody useless, and all Ryan had to show for the last couple of days was an exceptionally clean floor, and a mentor who had slowly eased up on the yelling, though Stewart was still just as gruff as on day one. 

The only bright side was that after his shift—which would end in only a few minutes, if Stewart didn’t push any last minute chores on him—Ryan was going to march directly to the supply closet and wait, for as long as it took, until Graham and Yaz joined him and they could have a proper discussion.

It was the only open time they had managed to work out between the three which didn’t look suspicious. Any time off of their actual working hours drew the negative attention of either Stewart or Mae, and though Graham had plenty more leeway as an officer, even he had a reasonable amount of responsibilities which kept him on his feet. He had tried calling them to his office once, and only ended up attracting the suspicion of Dr. Brooks, who didn’t understand why Graham needed to call a medical orderly and a nurse-in-training to his office, especially when he had his own orderly to run about.

So the supply closet it was—and soon, too. Ryan moved quickly down the line, impatience ebbing with each bed that he checked off. Stewart was nowhere to be seen, which meant that once Ryan reached the end, he would be free to leave. All he had to do was check the last few rows, and—

But when he got about three quarters of the way down, something made him stop. It was a prickling on the back of his neck, an unearthly chill, and it made Ryan hesitate, eyes still on the checklist in front of him. Then he looked up, and suppressed a shudder as his eyes confirmed what he’d expected to see.

It was the odd soldier—the silent one, who stared. He stared mostly at Ryan, who often caught him throughout the day, and never failed to feel a faint shiver of unease when their eyes met. Mae, when she passed by, told him that the man suffered from shell shock. That he had been in some terrible battle and had been thought dead or missing, until he’d been found wandering dazedly along the road. A bit like them.

Ryan was never one to doubt the Doctor. He’d learned too much from her for that. But still—the Doctor wasn’t the Doctor now, was she? And the man, who could never seem to stop staring, and never spoke much neither, didn’t seem like a typical shell-shocked soldier. There was something about him that seemed off. Something about him that seemed…

…Alien.

And he was staring at Ryan now, propped up in bed only a few meters away. His arm was still bandaged, as was his head, but he didn’t look like he was feeling the pain. His eyes, large and bright and strangely empty, bored into Ryan, who gulped and looked hurriedly down at his checklist.

“So…Lewitt, right?” He looked back up as he read the man’s name, who didn’t react. “Feeling okay, yeah? Need anything I can tell the nurses about?”

Mae had also told him that it helped to talk to the shell-shocked soldiers. Ryan didn’t know about that, but he did know that it helped his own nerves to talk to this man, Lewitt, who was so eerily silent that it felt like talking to a statue.

“You seem like you’re, um, getting better.” That was a lie. Ryan still had no idea how to judge the prognosis of the patients. He had only been on his feet for a few days, and most of that had been spent cleaning. “Few more days, you’ll be on your feet, eh?”

The man didn’t answer, but as Ryan watched he seemed to sense something, for he turned his head ever so slightly toward the door. Ryan followed his gaze, and then stifled a groan as the telltale footsteps of the corporal preceded the entrance of the man himself.

“Oh for god’s sake…”

“Private Sinclair!” Stewart had the loudest, angriest whisper Ryan had ever heard. “Aren’t you done with that checklist by now? It’s your own free time you’re burning, boy!”

“Yeah, I’m almost done, I’m just…” helplessly, he gestured towards Lewitt. “Uh, getting to know the patients.”

“Ah.” To Ryan’s surprise, the corporal’s tone softened ever so slightly as he neared, and caught a glimpse of who Ryan was referring to. “Well, that’s…a good thing of you to do. The conversation’s good for them, you know.”

“Yeah, that’s what the Doc…the nurse told me.” Ryan thumbed the checklist in his hand, and glanced down at the few names left. “Don’t worry though, corporal, I’m, uh, almost done. Just a couple more.”

The corporal scrutinized him for a moment under thick eyebrows, and then, after a long moment, stuck his hand out. “Oh, give it here. I’ll finish up, it’s best you get to bed at a reasonable hour. I’ve seen how you younger lads stay up til all hours, think you can get by on a handful of minutes. I won’t contribute to the problem.”

“Oh, uh—thanks!” Ryan could scarcely believe his ears. Quickly, before Stewart could change his mind he handed over the checklist and the pen. “Thank you corporal, I really appreciate it!”

“No matter,” he grunted. He brandished a warning finger towards Ryan’s chest. “But you better be getting your sleep, and not staying out to party! I know how some of you privates like to go out in the city, hit up the town and all that. Don’t let me catch you dragging yourself in at three AM.”

“Definitely not,” Ryan said, and once the corporal gave him a grudging nod, scooted around his rather intimidating figure and towards the door, his only thought to escape as quick as he could—if not from his mentor, then from the creepy fellow in the hospital bed, whose eyes Ryan could feel on the back of his neck even as he opened the door and slipped out into the hallway.

Stewart watched him go, and then shook his head. 

“Kids,” he muttered, mustache twitching, and then turned back to the beds. He raised his pen to mark Lewitt off, when the sound of a clearing throat made him look up.

Lewitt was staring at him, his eyes wide, and unreadable. Stewart’s eyebrows rose in surprise. It was not often when he heard the man make a sound. “Can I help you?”

For several long moments Lewitt didn’t answer, but simply stared. His gaze, usually fixed and rather distant, trailed over Stewart’s shape, almost as if he were…sizing him up. 

It was creepy. Stewart felt a chill creep up his spine, and he was just about to look down and move onto the next bed, when Lewitt cleared his throat again, and spoke.

“I need…” The words came out flat, and a little raspy, as if he wasn’t used to using it. “I need you to look…”

He held out his arm, the bandaged one, and when Stewart’s eyes trailed down it, he saw why the man had requested his help. The dressing had come undone on one end, the bandage fluttering as he held the arm aloft.

“Ah, you need me to fix it?” Lewitt hesitated, then nodded. Corporal Stewart set the checklist down, and slid the pen into his pocket. “Alright lad, dontcha worry. Let me just get some gloves, and I’ll be right there.”

He bustled to the back of the room and returned only a few seconds later, his hands gloved, to find Lewitt watching him. This wasn’t unusual in itself—the man had a habit of staring—but his expression, usually blank, was not so now. Instead there was a hungry look in his eye, as he watched Stewart approach. Inexplicably, Stewart shivered.

Without being requested, Lewitt held his arm out, the bandage trailing like a kite tail. Corporal Stewart gingerly took his arm in his hands, turning it to see just where the dressing had come unraveled. 

“You know it’s strange, these dressings can’t usually come undone like this. It almost looks as if—”

Before he had time to finish his sentence, Lewitt’s other hand snaked up and pressed against his neck, so quickly and gently that for one wild moment Stewart thought the man was about to pull him into an embrace—and then something cold and metallic bit into his skin, and he had less than a nanosecond to try and scream before darkness took over and his consciousness fled.

The scream, nor any other sound, never made it past his throat. The whole thing had happened so fast that none of the other patients, had they been looking, would have noticed something particularly out of the ordinary. Lewitt released his hold, hand sliding back into his lap, and Corporal Stewart straightened up—only it was no longer him. He opened his eyes and blinked once, languidly, before looking down at Lewitt, who smiled.

“Hello, Mother of mine,” His grin bore teeth. “I’ve missed you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally, the plot moves forward! don't mind me, idk how to pace, and I won't lie I had a hard time writing these few chapters, with all the build up etc. hope its not moving too slowly, and i promise the plot is coming. like soon. a couple chapters soon, promise.
> 
> oh, and to everybody who comments: i love and appreciate you all, and i will get back to you as soon as i can! once i stop being so swamped with real life things.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mmmm to be perfectly honest im tired of all the buildup....like it's fun in a novel when you can just keep reading to the next chapter but since im posting them every few days you guys have to wait. so i feel bad and feel like i should post an extra chapter so the story can get a move on. idk. anyway let me know (also i love writing tardis fam interactions, but buildup takes for-e-ver)

As soon as Ryan reached the supply closet he twisted the knob and flung the door open, not really expecting anybody to be waiting inside—and then stumbled back in surprise when he nearly ran into Graham and Yaz

Yaz and Graham both jumped in shock at Ryan’s sudden appearance, and then Yaz split into a grin. “Ryan, we didn’t think you’d make it!”

“Me neither,” Ryan confided, a relieved smile creeping up his face as well. “I can’t believe you’re both here!” 

“Trust us, we didn’t believe it either,” Yaz reassured. Ryan nodded, still smiling, and then his gaze slid to Graham. “How’s the paperwork, Grandad?”

“Oh, very funny.” Graham grumbled, but even he couldn’t keep the ghost of a smile off his face. “Well, c’mon then!”

He gestured urgently towards what little empty space remained in the closet, and Ryan cast a quick glance over the hallway—empty—before ducking inside, shutting the door behind him. Instantly, the tiny space was plunged into darkness.

“Um, does anybody have a candle?”

“Mine went out when you opened the door, but—one sec.” Yaz began to fumble around in her apron pockets, and Ryan winced as her elbow jabbed into his ribcage, but didn’t have time to complain before the sound of a match striking hit his ears. A moment later, a small flame flared to life, casting them all in dim shadows. 

“Oi, nice to see you two.” He blinked against the weak light of the half-melted candle sitting on the shelf. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“I’ll say.” Graham’s voice came from Ryan’s left, and in the candlelight he could see him wedged uncomfortably up against shelves of what appeared to be medical supplies. “And I can’t say it’s been that much fun up in admin ever since Dr. Brooks caught me bringing the two of you by. I think he might be a tad suspicious by now, keeps asking me how I know you two.”

“And what’d you say?”

Graham blinked in surprise, as if it were obvious. “Sheffield, of course. Not that he believed me. Still, suppose it don’t matter if we’re going to be out of here in the next couple of weeks.”

“That’s sort of optimistic, isn’t it Graham?” Yaz sounded far more dubious.

“Well, with what you were telling me—”

“Wait, wait. Who’s telling who what?” At Ryan’s question, Graham fell quiet, and then gestured towards Yaz. “Yaz’ll tell you about it. She thinks Mae Smith might be remembering something.”

_“Really?”_ Ryan let out an audible gasp. “And you didn’t lead with that? That’s amazing!”

“No, it’s—it’s not like that.” Yaz didn’t look particularly pleased, though Ryan couldn’t understand why. If the Doctor was remembering things—

“She isn’t _remembering,_ exactly. It’s more like…like she has these dreams.” She looked uncertain even as she said it, hands wringing anxiously together. “More like nightmares, actually. Of her time as the Doctor. With us, even. I’ve heard her calling out our names.”

Ryan stared at her. An elated grin was slowly working his way over his face. “I still don’t see how that’s a bad thing. Actually, that’s brilliant! Maybe you can convince her—”

“No, that’s just the thing,” Yaz interrupted. “It’s not like she remembers, cos they’re just dreams. She thinks she’s dreaming, see? And every time she wakes up, or I wake her up, she just dismisses it. I swear, I even mentioned Tim Shaw to her after I heard her shouting ‘bout him in a dream. Nothing.”

“Oh.” Ryan’s grin faded somewhat. “Okay, I guess that’s not as good as I thought. But it’s still something, right?”

“Yeah, but—” Clearly, Yaz didn’t share his enthusiasm. She huffed, and crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s just frustrating, isn’t it? I mean, we’ve been here a week, and this is all we’ve got to show for it!”

Ryan and Graham fell silent at her unexpected outburst, and glanced at each other, uncertain as to how to respond. Yaz saw the look they shared, and sighed. “I’m sorry, guys. I didn’t mean it like that. I suppose I’m…well, I’m just frustrated working with Mae. I mean, she looks like the Doctor, she acts like the Doctor, and then she looks in my eyes and has no idea who I am! And I’ve no idea what to do to fix that.”

“You know, it’s not all on you, right?” Ryan asked. Yaz looked to him, and opened her mouth to say something. Quickly, he backtracked. “Wait, I didn’t mean that in a bad way. I meant, don’t beat yourself up about it. We sort of fell into this situation, didn’t we? And we’re doing pretty good I think, based on the fact that we don’t actually know anything.”

“Yeah, that’s the other bit.” Yaz frowned, though it was more worry than anger. “We don’t really know anything, do we? We’ve just got guesses and ideas, nothing concrete.”

“They’re pretty good guesses, you ask me,” Graham said. “Or, at least they make sense. And like Ryan said, we don’t have much to go off of, but we’ve managed to gather something, and it’s only been a week. I’d say that’s not bad.”

Yaz looked between them for a moment. Then she dropped her eyes, and shrugged. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. I’m just brooding, aren’t I?”

Ryan let his next words slip out without thinking. “See Graham, I _told_ you she broods. She even admits it.”

Yaz looked up. “Hang on. Who said I brood?”

Ryan looked towards Graham in disbelief, then back at Yaz. “Hang on, that was not an insult. You said it, just a moment before—”

“Just because _I_ —”

“Alright, this is stopping.” Graham stuck a hand between them, cutting Yaz off. She snapped her mouth shut, and gave him a dirty look, to which he returned a raise of his eyebrows. “If you two descend to blows, I’m getting out first.”

“Fine,” she muttered, and then looked over at Ryan. “But I do _not_ brood.”

“I didn’t say—”

“So, anybody else have information?” Graham asked loudly.

Ryan was still half-thinking of a suitable comeback, but at Graham’s question an image flashed in his mind—the shell-shocked soldier, with his strange, piercing gaze, watching Ryan as he worked. “Well, actually…”

All eyes rounded on him. 

“You have something?” Yaz demanded. “What is it?”

“Yeah, but—” Ryan hedged, “I don’t think it’s anything good.”

Yaz’s face fell. “Are you s—”

“Hang on,” Graham piped up. “I dunno why, but I have a feeling I know what you’re about to say. It’s that soldier in your old room, right? The one with the bandage ‘round his head.”

Ryan frowned. “Hey—yeah. Hold on a sec, did you notice him being creepy too? And you didn’t say anything?”

Graham tried to hold up his hands in defense, but the tiny closet left him no room, so he settled for a shrug. “I only saw him the one time! I didn’t actually think he was dangerous! You mean he was watching you again?”

“Watching me _again_ —how did you not bring this up earlier?”

“Hold on, hold on,” Yaz cut in. “You two both noticed something, and _neither of you_ told me?”

Ryan and Graham both fell awkwardly silent.

“Well to be fair, love, we didn’t tell each other.” Graham spoke at last. Then he gestured towards Ryan. “But you should tell us, cos it sounds like you’ve seen him the most. I don’t really go into the rooms ‘cept when I visited you two.”

“Fine.” Ryan cast Graham one last glare, then turned—as much as he could—to face Yaz. “See, there’s this weird guy in my old room…”

And he explained to them the whole thing, how the man would often stare at Ryan as he went about his work, how he never really spoke or responded to conversation but he seemed totally alert, and completely aware of the going-ons in the hospital. He just…didn’t participate.

“Wait a minute,” Yaz butted in when he was nearly done with his explanation. He was about to shoot her an annoyed look, but then she said, “I think I know him too.”

“Really?” Ryan asked.

“Yeah, ‘course. I’ve gone by him on my rounds. You’re right, he doesn’t talk, but he doesn’t stare either. Mae said he’s got shell-shock.”

Ryan considered this for a second, then shook his head. “Dunno. All I can say is: if there’s something alien going on in this hospital, I’m putting my bets on that man. He’s got…a look about him, y’know?”

“You don’t think…” Graham shifted uncomfortably. “You don’t think that might be who the Doctor’s worried about?”

Ryan wasn’t sure why, but he looked to Yaz before answering. Maybe just to see if Graham’s suggestion brought the same fear bubbling up in her as it did in him. From the look on her face, he wasn’t far-off. Yaz bit her lip as she considered this idea, and Ryan could tell from her expression that she didn’t like it.

“I suppose it’s better to treat him that way, isn’t it?” He broke the silence at last, despite the uneasiness sitting in his stomach at the thought. “He _is_ our best lead, until we can figure out how to fix the Doctor.”

“Think you’re right,” Yaz answered him. She shifted, and glanced up at the candle. It was dangerously low now, probably not far from going out completely. “I’ll keep getting to know Mae, try to see if she remembers anything outside of dreams. Though, who knows? Could be those dreams are the first part of the Doctor’s memories coming back.”

She sounded far too hopeful saying the last bit, and when Ryan met Graham’s eyes, he could tell he agreed. But he nodded anyway. Who was he to kill Yaz’s spirits? She clearly wasn't taking the Doctor’s lack of recognition all that well. “Right, who knows? We’ll just have to keep on as usual. And I’ll keep an eye on that alien guy.”

“Yeah, give us an update next time we meet,” Yaz agreed. Graham frowned.

“Hang on, when are we going to meet? It’s been a right headache trying to organize this one time, just so we can all be stuffed together in a broom closet.”

Beside him, Yaz snorted with laughter. “Oh c’mon, Graham, don’t tell me you aren’t happy to see us.”

Unfortunately, just as she said this, the candle she was holding, which had been nearly at its end, flickered one last time before snuffing out completely.

“I think _see_ is the operative word.” Graham’s voice came from beside Ryan’s shoulder. “Suppose this is a sign we should turn in?”

Ryan couldn’t help but smother a laugh as well. “I’m alright with that, but—same time, same place, tomorrow?”

“And the day after,” Yaz’s voice rang out grimly from the dark. “And the day after, and after that. Let’s make it regular, yeah? Even if we can’t all make it.”

“Agreed,” Graham answered. “Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to get out of this closet before we all die of asphyxiation. Neither of you have had a proper bath, and it shows.”

“Oi, you’re one to talk,” Ryan retorted. “Says the officer, who gets his own _bath—_ ”

He would have continued, but then Yaz reached behind him and turned the knob, pushing him out the door and effectively ending the conversation.

———

Yaz didn’t for one moment regret meeting up with the boys, and not only because she wanted to hear whatever news they’d managed to gather; she also, quite simply, missed them terribly. She suspected it would’ve been easier to deal with having to put on a face around Mae all the time if Ryan was there to commiserate with her, or Graham was there to pass on some of that grandfatherly wisdom he was so good at giving. Without them, it was just hard.

Though the hard bits, Yaz had discovered, tended to come at moments she didn’t expect. Like watching Mae have terrible dreams, for instance, and being unable to wake her up. Or finding herself in the middle of a good laugh at something Mae had said, only to snap out of it with the bitter realization that the Doctor had never treated her so closely.

That was probably the toughest part of it all. 

And though Yaz didn’t regret making an excuse to slip away to the supply closet, she _did_ regret that she’d never bothered to memorize the way back to the nurses’ sleeping quarters. Actually, she hadn’t given much thought at all to how she would get back to the sleeping quarters without Mae—or rather, to how she _wouldn’t,_ because it only took Yaz ten minutes and a couple confusing turns to become completely lost.

The problem was that they all looked alike. Yaz grimly plunged down another dim hallway, one she could’ve easily been down several times before—or never been down at all. Whoever had designed the building clearly hadn’t gone for character when designing each segment. Yaz reached the end of the hallway—identical to the one before it—and glanced around the corner. She immediately got the strongest sense of deja vu. Had she passed this hallway before? Or perhaps she’d already passed the right door, long ago. It was impossible to tell; they all looked exactly identical. 

Time to retrace her steps. Yaz grimaced and turned around, back the way she’d come. There had been a stairwell, and then a hallway—or had it been a hallway, and then a stairwell? She already didn’t know. Perhaps the place was wiping her memory, she considered idly, as she rounded the corner. Perhaps that was the whole mystery, and they just needed to get Mae out of the hospital for five bloody minutes—

“Oi, watch it—oh, Yaz!”

Yaz stumbled back, and then grabbed the nearby handrail to steady herself. A distant part of her noted that she was right—it had been a stairwell first, not a hallway—but mostly she just registered confusion as she looked up into the face of exactly the person she wanted to see.

“Mae? What are _you_ doing up?”

Mae stared at her for a second, her eyebrows raised in disbelief. She was poised at the bottom of the stairs, as if she had just been about to round the corner before Yaz had rounded it first and come crashing into her. “I was just going to ask you the same thing! What are you doing—actually, what are you doing down _here?”_

She gestured toward the hallway Yaz had just vacated. “Don’t you know that way leads to the basement?”

Yaz just looked at her, perplexed. “Isn’t that the way to our sleeping quarters?”

Mae looked at her as if she weren’t sure if she were joking. Her lips twitched. “We don’t sleep in the basement, Yaz. Even if it does seem like it.”

“Oh.” Suddenly Yaz felt foolish. “Well, to be honest…I was, um, lost.”

“I think I can see that,” Mae said. Amusement filtered through her tone. “I’ve actually been looking for you too. Got rather worried, when you didn’t make it back after half an hour. Thought you might’ve gotten held up.”

Yaz didn’t miss the implication in her last words, and she immediately colored—only this time it was out of annoyance, not embarrassment. For some inexplicable reason, the thought that she and Ryan were together, or rather that Mae _thought_ the two were together, bothered her more than she could say.

“Nope, not held up,” she answered—too cheerily, unable to keep a slight edge out of her tone. “I actually went to check with Major O’Brien ‘bout my papers, making sure they all got processed. Then I came down here and got lost. I’ve been wandering around for a while, to be honest, so I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you.”

“Oh.” Mae seemed surprised, but then a smile crept over her face. She seemed to accept Yaz’s explanation—or at least, seemed happy about it. A little relieved as well, though Yaz wasn’t sure if she was making that up.

Mae brought her hand to the handrail, and placed it on top of Yaz’s, the way one might do by mistake—only she didn’t pull away and apologize. Instead she found Yaz’s fingers, and tangled her own in them, until they were effectively holding hands. Then she brought their entwined hands up, and gave Yaz’s palm a tight squeeze. “Alright then! How about I show you the way?”

Yaz looked at her, and tried to prevent the smile attempting to break onto her own face. She couldn’t. Mae was grinning at her, all Doctor-y, as if they were about to set out on an adventure, just the two of them, rather than going to find their sleeping quarters. 

It took her a moment to find her voice. “Only if you don’t let me get lost again.”

“Oh, Yasmin Khan,” Mae shook her head in mock disappointment, and swung their linked arms for emphasis. “That’s why we’re holding hands.”

———

Ryan woke up the next day to a figure standing over his bed.

That wasn’t how he usually woke up. Usually, the last orderly of the night watch came round at about seven to wake the rest of the staff, who quickly changed, made up their beds, and headed to the kitchens for breakfast, and hopefully coffee. It wasn’t a bad schedule, all considering. Ryan, used to working grueling night shifts at the warehouse, actually found daytime work a nice change of pace. Besides the cleaning.

But this morning, about a quarter to seven, Ryan jolted awake to the sight of a figure looming over his bed.

He nearly had a heart attack. With all their chat the evening before of Lewitt and his potential alienness, he hadn’t had an easy night of peaceful dreams. Instead they’d been filled with horrifying monsters, some imaginary and some pulled from his own memories of their more colorful adventures. Therefore, it took him a few seconds to recognize the person standing over him.

“Corporal Stewart! Wha—” He looked up at him in shock, and then cast a quick glance around to see if anybody else had been woken up in such a way. Was this some sort of hazing thing? But no, the clock on the wall showed him that it was a few minutes before seven, and everybody else was still fast asleep. Except Stewart, who stood at the side of his bed, unblinking. 

Ryan refocused on the corporal, who still had not moved, or said a word. “Should I…am I late for something?”

For a moment, Stewart just stared, and Ryan began to get that same strange feeling he’d had by Lewitt’s bed—the feeling that something was off. The strange prickling on the back of his neck that indicated being watched.

But then Stewart just blinked and said, “Yes. I need you to do my rounds this morning. Without me.”

“You want me to do your rounds?” Ryan asked in confusion. “But I’ve only been here a week, I don’t think I’m—”

“You are qualified,” Stewart answered. His voice was strangely void of inflection. “I have other duties this morning. Go to Dr. Brooks, tell him that.”

And then, before Ryan could ask any more questions—like namely, where Dr. Brooks even was—Stewart turned around and left, leaving Ryan to stare after him in bewilderment. He was still staring when, a few minutes later, the night orderly came in to rouse everybody for their shifts.

———

Graham was just finishing up the last of the morning paperwork—an exercise in guesswork, since he didn’t recognize half the forms, and didn’t even know which he was meant to approve—when a knock sounded on his door. He looked up, first at the door, then at the clock—five minutes until noon—and sighed. 

“Yes, come in.”

Instantly the door swung open and Ryan stepped inside. He looked around once, ascertained there was nobody inside besides Graham, leaned back to check the hallway, and then stuck his head back inside and slammed the door shut. “Graham—thank god. I need to talk to you.”

“Ryan!” Graham exclaimed, half-pleased—which quickly turned to worry as he saw his expression. If Ryan had come to see him in his office during working hours, it had to be something serious. It was rare that orderlies could slip away from their duties, and rarer still that they came to see the admin officer. Dr. Brooks had already reprimanded Graham once for showing favoritism. “What’s the matter, son? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

He paused and scanned Ryan’s face, his urgent body language. His voice dropped lower. “Is it our…friend, from your old ward?”

Ryan shook his head. “No, Lewitt’s the same as ever, I checked on my rounds this morning. No, it’s…” his voice dropped as well. “It’s Corporal Stewart, you remember him? My mentor.”

It took Graham a second to grasp the man’s face in his mind. “Ah, yeah, I remember that bloke. Tall man, sort of gruff, ain’t he?”

“He was,” Ryan answered. “That’s the thing though—he _was._ Real annoying too, not the kind of guy you could miss, right? Only thing is, today he’s completely different, like he got a personality implant or something. And he’s acting weird, making me take over his rounds—”

“Hang on a sec,” Graham held up a hand to stem Ryan’s worried babble. “What d’you mean, got a personality implant?”

“I mean, he’s acting like a robot!” Ryan’s voice rose on the last word. “Listen, Graham, it’s the weirdest thing, and you know who he reminds me of?”

“Er, I don’t, but I think I know where you’re leading,” Graham responded, brow furrowing with worry. 

“It’s Lewitt.”

“Figured, yeah.”

“So, what do we do?” Ryan was looking at him as if he might actually know, and Graham suddenly remembered that, even if Ryan didn’t call him Grandad every time, they’d had a moment, way back in Norway, and ever since then Ryan had started to look at him as somebody to trust. To rely on. Somebody who would know what to do.

Only for the life of him, he had no idea what to do in a situation such as this.

“I suppose we’ve got to keep an eye on them, yeah?”

Ryan’s face fell. “You mean, I’m supposed to keep an eye on them, don’t you?” 

That was more or less their best option, if not the only one which didn’t involve putting their secret identities under scrutiny. However, that didn’t mean that Graham particularly liked the idea, not when it involved putting his one and only grandson under the line of fire.

“Well, maybe Yaz as well,” he offered hopefully. “Have you told her yet?”

Ryan shook his head, despondent. “Couldn’t find her. One of us’ll have to catch her in the halls. Probably me, again.”

Graham winced. Having a desk job was all well and good, until it forced the two youngsters, put under your de facto care, out into the danger zones instead. “I can, um, look through the files here. Check up on Stewart and Lewitt, see if there’s anything suspicious about their history or something. You said Lewitt came that way, didn’t he?”

Ryan nodded. “Yeah. They said it was shell-shock or something, but I dunno. Sure doesn’t seem like it to me. He doesn’t act like the other ones with shell-shock.”

“Maybe…” Graham frowned and leaned back in his chair, pondering, until suddenly an idea struck him, and he sprung upright. “Oi, you don’t think Lewitt infected Stewart, do you? Maybe they’re infecting one another, like an alien plague.”

Ryan wrinkled his nose. “That’s…disgusting, but valid, I suppose. How’re we supposed to figure out if it’s true or not though?”

Graham’s expression of triumph faded somewhat. “I dunno,” he admitted. “But it’s a start, right? And if I check the files…”

“It might turn something up.” Ryan nodded in agreement, and took a backwards step towards the door. “Alright. I’ll tell Yaz then. Reckon she’ll be pretty put out about missing this, though.”

Graham shrugged, and gave a rather unconvincing smile. “Maybe by the time you track her down she’ll have turned up something about the Doctor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i sort of like the idea that the fam misses each other, but they also sort of step on each others' toes when they actually do meet, bc theyre in a high stress situation and so emotions are running high and everything, and ppl tend to snap at each other, even if its little things. so i kind of tried to portray that here, hope it worked. but theyre still fam ofc.
> 
> and thank you guys for all the wonderful comments, i truly appreciate every single one. srsly, they all make my day, like individually.
> 
> ALSO im trying to learn how to be on twitter so if you want to follow for thasmin stuff and probs lots of ranting about fic writing then follow me @hetzi_clutch


	11. Chapter 11

It had been nearly two weeks since their last meeting of all three of them, and Yaz still didn’t have anything on Mae Smith. 

Mae and Yaz had been together constantly—practically attached at the hip—but that proved to be no use in her quest to awaken the Doctor’s memories. Mae, despite Yaz’s constant digging at her past, and hopeful references to their adventures, remained as inscrutably human as ever.

And Yaz, to her utter surprise, found that she didn’t really mind.

Oh, it wasn’t that she missed the Doctor—she did, something terrible. But at the same time, as the days passed with Yaz and Mae working side by side, Yaz began to realize that she missed her less and less. Not because she was used to her absence—she had passed three weeks in Sheffield and missed her every day—but because Mae made it seem like she was right there beside her. 

And the more Yaz got to know Mae, the more she began to wonder just how much the Doctor had lost in her transition to human. The personality was still there; Mae lacked nothing in the way of the Doctor’s innate kindness, or her courage, though she possessed a quieter, more subtle type. They shared the same quirky smile and mischievous sense of humor, only Mae never seemed to be covering anything up with it. Hell, they even had the same accent.

Mae Smith didn’t have the Doctor’s memories, nor did she have her alien kookiness, but she also didn’t have a weight that the Doctor dragged around wherever she went; an enormous sense of sadness that the she was always trying to cover up, but never quite managed. Yaz had always attributed part of the Doctor’s over-the-top theatrics to that sadness she was trying to hide—but at the same time, she never got close enough to know what it was. Mainly because the Doctor held her at arm’s length. Held them all at arm’s length, really.

That was the most frustrating part about the Doctor, and it was refreshingly absent with Mae, who didn’t hold back with Yaz at all. She chattered about her life before the war, as a nurse at a university, and even confided in Yaz about her life growing up on the island of Gallifrey (which by now Yaz was almost completely certain was a stand-in for the Doctor’s real planet—it rung too true to be anything else). The only thing she held back about, despite Yaz’s occasional pestering, was why she studied science before bedtime.

“It keeps my mind occupied so I don’t dream when I fall asleep.”

“No it doesn’t.”

“Oh? How do you know?”

“Because you wake me up every night,” Yaz said, half-teasing, half in triumph. Mae narrowed her eyes. “Well, I just think it’s good to know beyond your specific body of knowledge. There’s a lot we can learn from those books, you know. As nurses I mean.”

“Well then, why don’t you teach me?”

This pulled Mae up short. “I…um, thought you wouldn’t be interested, if I’m being honest.”

If _Yaz_ was being honest, she had no interest in chemistry, and only the barest amount in biology. But she’d learned from their work that Mae was a good teacher, and it was a good chance to try and figure out the one thing Mae was hiding. Besides, it would probably be fun, the two of them together. “Well I probably won’t be that good, but I reckon I can take a crack at it.”

Mae’s face split into a grin, the kind Yaz had sort of come to love—maybe because they were the Doctor’s grins, the same ones she would flash when Yaz said something especially clever. “Alright. Care to give up your lunch break?”

Yaz smiled. “I wasn’t doing anything else with it.”

They took their lunches off to the far side of the staff dining room, and Yaz volunteered to grab food for the two of them as Mae ran down to get her books. As always, while standing in line, Yaz scanned the room for Ryan (Graham ate in a separate room for officers), but to her disappointment, didn’t find him. She usually didn’t. Their lunches were staggered according to their duties, and Yaz had the latest hour, meaning that Ryan was often long gone before she had even arrived.

But as she brought their food to the table, her eyes did fall upon Ryan’s mentor, Corporal Stewart. She frowned when she saw him. Ryan had filled her in nearly two weeks ago on the sudden change in the corporal’s personality, and ever since receiving the news she’d taken it upon herself to keep an eye on him whenever she could. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much opportunity for that, since his rank and job description kept him squarely with the orderlies, rather than interacting with the nurses. Though funnily enough, that didn’t entirely stop him.

Ryan had sworn Stewart had changed into the most miserable personality he had ever seen, but Yaz couldn’t quite see it. For one thing, his interactions at lunch didn’t quite fit the picture. He seemed friendly, even jovial, in the way that he slapped people on the back and clapped shoulders, even stopping a nurse to talk with her—though the reactions weren’t entirely reciprocal. Those he touched tended to stiffen, or shift away, looking for an escape from the awkward interaction. Yaz hadn’t had the chance to interact with him yet, since she generally ate lunch with Mae, who was quick to steer her away with a muttered ‘’S’not appropriate for a corporal to be friendly with the nurses’. 

But this time, as Yaz put her food on the table, eyes still cast towards him, he seemed to sense something. He stiffened, suddenly, and then swiveled around in his chair, and before Yaz had the chance to look away, his eyes found hers. They locked gazes for a moment, and then he did something odd; he sniffed the air. 

Instantly Yaz tore her gaze away and slid into her seat, suppressing a shudder. Ryan was right; something was off about him. What kind of person sniffed the air? And she didn’t really know him, but she didn’t think it was his personality that had changed. Not that it hadn’t, but it was less like a change and more of an…absence of personality. As if something else was looking out of his eyes.

Something hungry.

Yaz settled into her seat, and forced herself not to find him again amidst the crowded room. She didn’t want to raise any suspicion, especially since the corporal knew she and Ryan were familiar with each other, and she didn’t want him to notice that she was alone, or, even worse, that Mae was friendly with her.

But as she focused on her plate, trying not to look anywhere but the table in front of her, she couldn’t ignore the prickle that ran up the back of her neck. As if she were being watched. 

So focused was she on trying not to look around, that the thump of books on the table beside her startled her badly. She jumped in her chair, only to hear Mae’s laughter as she plopped into the chair next to Yaz.

“Okay, when I said choose a table to the side, I didn’t take into consideration how hard you’d be to—you alright Yaz?”

The laughter written across Mae’s face dropped to concern as Yaz turned to face her. Yaz swallowed and tried for nonchalance.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Dunno, you just seemed…” Mae cocked her head, studying Yaz’s face. After a second, she just shrugged. “Really focused on the table, I suppose. Hey, you don’t have one of the lads chasing after you, do ya? They can get a little persistent sometimes, but if you want I can—”

“No, uh, that’s okay,” Yaz interjected quickly. Mae had straightened up in her chair, and looked as if she were about to leap to her feet and scan the room for the fictional boyfriend. “I’m not attracting any, um, lads. At least, I don’t think so. Not particularly interested, anyway.”

“Oh, well, that’s good, you’re not worth ‘em.” Mae relaxed back into her seat, and then seemed to realize what she said, and backtracked. “I mean, _you’re_ worth them! It’s that they’re not—well technically you shouldn’t anyway, but you could if you wanted, I mean—”

“I get what you mean,” Yaz said quickly, because Mae looked as if she were about to turn into a sputtering mess, and Yaz didn’t think she would be too far behind. Unless she was seriously mistaken, Mae had been trying to say that she was attractive. How on earth was she supposed to take that? Was that just Mae speaking, or the Doctor? Was it wishful thinking to consider them one and the same?

“Right.” Mae was by now completely pink, and turned to dig into her meal with a ferocity that was completely absent a few seconds beforehand. Yaz did the same, and for a few minutes, they ate in awkward silence.

“So—” Yaz cleared her throat after a while, desperate to escape the cloyingly tense atmosphere. “Studying?”

“Oh, right. _Right—”_ Mae’s fork clattered to the side of her plate, and she practically lunged across Yaz for the books she’d set down before eating. Yaz leaned back, but the close proximity was unavoidable. She prayed that Mae wouldn’t see her blushing when she returned to her seat.

“Here we go.” Mae returned to her seat, books in hand, and pushed her half-eaten meal to the side with her elbow before dropping them in front of her. “Where d’you wanna start?”

“Um…” Yaz had no idea. She bit her lip uncertainly. “How about you just show me what you’re working on right now?”

“Right—okay.” Mae watched her, unmoving. Her eyes tracked towards her lips, just for a moment, and then she blinked and seemed to come back to herself. She grabbed the top book without glancing at the cover, and flipped it open to the first page. Only then did she actually look to see which book she had chosen. “Er..okay. Biology it is.”

Yaz nodded, but Mae was already looking down at the page—which meant she didn’t see the dumbfounded expression on her face. She had the feeling that something had shifted between them, something big—but the parameters of which she didn’t dare give voice to, because those kind of things never happened. Not to Yaz.

Mae nudged the book towards Yaz, scooting her chair closer so that they both could pore over the pages at the same time. Reflexively, Yaz bent her head down as well, and pulled herself closer until they were practically touching. It was the only way she could see the tiny print—and as soon as she did so, Mae leaned over and gestured toward the table of contents. “See anything you recognize?”

“Yea—” and then Yaz remembered that she was supposed to be an ignorant, lower-class woman from the 19th century. “No, never heard of any of this stuff. What’s…mi-to-sis?”

Mae laughed, the soft sound right by her ear. “Mitosis, that’s an easy one. Want to start there?”

“Sure. I mean, you’re the teacher.” As Mae flipped to the page and began to speak, Yaz briefly wondered how odd they looked from the outside, two nurses coupled together, leaning over a textbook. Probably not very much so; she recalled girls acting in such ways at school, with their best friends. Surely a hundred years didn’t make much of a difference. She was pretty sure girls were allowed to be touchy-feely with one another no matter the century.

She just had to make sure nobody could get close enough to see the flush on the back of her neck. Or hear the thumping of her heart. Take out those two things, Yaz figured, and she’d be safe.

Only the whole thing seemed wonky somehow, not right-sided, and she couldn’t entirely understand why. Her own reaction, Yaz could understand well enough; it was stressful enough having to playact around Mae all the time, pretending they had never met before, and it got harder every time she proceeded to act all friendly and…intimate. And that was what Yaz couldn’t figure out. Because they were friends, surely, but not friends the way Yaz had been with the Doctor. It was a different relationship; a more human one, perhaps. Only with the power balance all lopsided, because this time it was Yaz keeping all the secrets from an unsuspecting Mae Smith, and not the other way around. 

And yet she still had the feeling that _she_ was the one out of the loop.

It was hard to concentrate on mitosis precisely because Mae was explaining it directly into her ear, and also because Yaz had learned it enough in school to at least know the steps by heart. So she kept up her best appearance of listening while letting her mind wander, trying to figure out just what she was missing between them. Perhaps Mae had begun to suspect something—that would certainly explain the lingering glances. Perhaps she was playing a double game, drawing Yaz in to turn her secrets out, something that the Doctor would no doubt be capable of doing. Was Mae just as clever? Or was it— 

“Sister Smith, Sister Khan, I presume you’re not busy?”

A shadow fell over their table, just as the crisp tones of Dr. Brooks cut through their combined concentration. Yaz felt Mae wince beside her, before she quickly pulled away, slamming the book. Yaz pulled away as well, suddenly recalling that Mae studied at night, presumably for a reason. It seemed ridiculous to assume that studying was prohibited, and yet…

They turned around together, and looked up into the disapproving face of Dr. Brooks. 

“Hello, Doctor,” Mae said. Her cheery tone did nothing to give away the wince Yaz had seen moments before. “Sorry, did you want to see me?”

“I actually wanted to see you at your duties, Sister Smith,” he told her coldly, and cast a meaningful glance around the nearly empty dining room. Yaz followed his gaze, and abruptly realized why he sounded so severe. The clock on the wall showed five minutes past the hour they were meant to return to duty. Yaz’s heart sank, though she didn’t know why—it wasn’t if she cared about five minutes lost here and there. “You do know I’m planning on observing you later in the afternoon, correct?”

Mae did care, however, and it showed. As soon as her gaze caught the clock, her eyes widened and she stood up out of her seat, knocking the book to the side. “Oh, I’m sorry sir, really, I suppose we just got carried away—”

Yaz stood up as well, and, determined to be helpful, began scooping up the books Mae had sent scattering across the table. She gathered them up in her arms, and turned around, just in time to hear Dr. Brooks say, “See that it doesn’t happen again, Mae, and that goes for Miss Khan as well. I’ll meet you at ward nine around four in the afternoon, and you can show me what you’ve taught her. Understood?”

“Yes, of course sir.” Mae simply sounded relieved that the doctor hadn’t chosen to reprimand her further. Yaz looked at her, then up at Dr. Brooks, who surveyed them for a moment longer.

“Fine,” he said at last, and made to turn around. Then he stopped, and turned back. “Oh, and Miss Khan?”

“Um, yes sir?”

“Get rid of those books.” He swept his arm over the stack of books she was clutching to her chest, and then turned on his heel, without waiting for a response, and strode off. Yaz stared after him.

_“What_ a—” she began, but Mae shushed her.

“Oh, come off it, he’s in the right. I lost track of time.” She frowned at his retreating form, and then shook her head, and whispered something under her breath. It sounded suspiciously like “So _stupid—”_

“What was that?” Yaz asked, and shifted the books in her grasp. They were getting rather heavy.

“Hmm?” Mae broke off. “Oh, nothing. We have to get back to work though. But first you should—”

“Got it.” Yaz lifted her elbow to acknowledge the task. “I’ll get the books back. Don’t worry, I won’t get lost.”

She said this with a teasing lilt, hoping to get Mae out of whatever sudden stress she had fallen into. For a moment, it didn’t seem as if it had worked, but then Mae looked over at her and smiled.

“You better, Yasmin Khan. I don’t have time to fish you out of the basement, and I’m not going through the doctor’s observation alone.”

———

It was only after Yaz had run the books down to their quarters, run up again to join Mae, and already started with her on their afternoon duties that the question occurred to her. She blurted it out without thinking.

“Why did Dr. Brooks call you Mae?”

Mae’s head snapped up at the question, and her hands froze holding the gum-painting mixture she was about to apply to the man lying between them. The man, who had scarcely been paying attention before, his mouth too swollen with typhus scabs to speak, looked up as well, and glanced between the two with interest.

Mae looked at Yaz, and then her eyes darted toward the man, and Yaz immediately understood that she had asked at the wrong time. Quickly, she tried to think of some way to change or cover up the question. Nothing came to mind.

It took a moment before Mae answered, and when she did, every word came out delicate. “Me and him…knew each other before the war. He worked at the university, as a professor in medicine, and I was the department nurse. So we were on staff together.”

“Oh.” That made sense, and Yaz dropped her gaze, hoping that she would appear satisfied with the answer—or at least, that the man would follow her lead. 

And he did, but only after Mae began the treatment, which involved cleaning out the man’s sores and applying the ointment; a painful enough process to distract any patient from potentially salacious rumors. 

And Yaz dropped the subject, or at least appeared to do so. Because though Mae’s explanation answered her question on the surface level, it didn’t erase the suspicion that there was something else between them. For a brief, horrifying moment, Yaz considered the idea of some sort of romantic tryst between the two, and her stomach dropped to her toes—and then she remembered the way Mae had reacted to Dr. Brooks’ sudden arrival at lunch, and her fear abated somewhat. But she still couldn’t knock the sense that there was something unsaid between them, and she was determined to find out what.

As it turned out, she didn’t need to wait very long, for it was Mae who brought it up first, as soon as they retired to a more private place. In this case, it was the cleaning alcove at the back of the hospital room, when they went to wash their hands. The instant they arrived behind the curtain partitioning off the alcove, Mae rounded on Yaz and, in a furious whisper, said:

“I could half kill you right ‘bout now.”

“Sorry,” Yaz replied immediately. “I didn’t even think—I’m really sorry.”

She must have looked sincere enough to stem whatever tirade Mae was about to launch into. She pulled up short, momentarily taken aback, and then crossed her arms over her chest.

“Why’re you so suddenly curious about me and the doctor, anyway? It’s not any more interesting than what I said.”

“I’m not—” Reflexively, Yaz leapt to denial. Then she realized that this was the perfect opportunity to dig out some more information on just what made Mae tick. And why she didn’t appear to like Dr. Brooks. “I’m just curious, because you look like you don’t like him. Or that you’re afraid of him, and I’m not sure which.”

“I—” Mae’s mouth hung open. She closed it, as if unsure what to say, and then opened it again. “I don’t _not like_ Dr. Brooks. I think he’s a fine doctor. And I’m not scared of him, either.”

She said the last part as if it were the end of the conversation. As if she had answered the question. When she didn’t supply anything further, Yaz crossed her arms too and leveled her with a stubborn glare.

Several moments passed. Then Mae sighed, and gave in. She uncrossed her arms, and stuck them in the pockets of her dress, playing with some object Yaz couldn’t see. 

“Listen—” when she met Yaz’s gaze, there was a soberness she hadn’t seen before. “You can’t tell people this, alright? They’ll think I’m a laughing stock, or just won’t take me seriously, or worse, I could get in trouble. So just—promise you’ll keep a secret, yeah?”

Yaz couldn’t imagine what could possibly so important as to be sworn to secrecy over it. Still, she nodded. “I promise.”

“Okay, well, the thing is—” Yaz was so focused on watching her speak that she didn’t even notice the object she had drawn out of her pocket, and was now fiddling with in both hands. “I want to be a doctor. A proper doctor, like Dr. Brooks. That’s why I got hired at the university, and that’s why I’ve been studying here. I’ve been trying to get permission to sit the entrance exams, but the university won’t let me in on account of me being a woman and having no social standing and all, so I need a recommendation. That’s why I’m trying so hard to stay on Dr. Brooks’s good side.”

Yaz sucked in a breath, sudden understanding washing over her. “You want him to give you the recommendation.”

“Yeah,” Mae’s voice dropped slightly, and she leaned closer, her voice lighting up with excitement. “He’s the only one who will even consider it—all the others said no the first second, and wouldn’t budge. That’s half the reason I came here though, cos he said he didn’t consider my nursing at the university to be proper nursing, that I need real experience first, and then I can…”

She trailed off, taking in Yaz’s dumbfounded expression. Yaz tried to wipe it off, to replace it with something else, but she couldn’t. For some reason, all she could focus on was the sickening sensation that she had just plunged in far too deep.

_God, Mae really is a real person—with hopes, and dreams, and everything. She’s not just a human identity for the Doctor—she’s real. How can she not be?_

Mae was still watching her, but the tentative enthusiasm in her expression was fading away. After a second, it hardened into a stubborn defiance. Yaz still wasn’t responding. She couldn’t figure out how. What could she say to support the dreams of the very person for whom she was planning to rip them all away?

Mae dropped her gaze to the object in her hands, turning it over. “You know, there are women doctors. Most people don’t believe it, but there are. I saw an article in the newspaper once. With names and everything.”

Yaz followed her gaze to the object in her hands. After a moment, she found her voice. “What’s that?”

Mae looked up at her, confusion flashing across her face, and then she shrugged and held it up. “It’s nothing. Family heirloom. Supposedly we had a doctor in the family way back, and he carried it around. Now I do too. Just for luck though, because it doesn’t work.”

The object in her hand glinted under the late afternoon light streaming in from the windows. Yaz stared, speechless. She thought back to the dream she’d had on the TARDIS, the dream that had led her and Ryan and Graham all the way to the middle of this ugly, damnable war, and wondered how she could have possibly forgotten. 

In Mae’s hand, its case decorated with strange-but-familiar circular writing, was a tarnished silver pocket watch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i bet you all thought i'd forgotten, didn't you?
> 
> fun fact: what Yaz and Mae did to the patient was a treatment I read about in a book on nurses in working the boer war--basically they would clean out the diseased scabs on their gums. ew. don't be a nurse 100 years ago, folks.


	12. Chapter 12

For several seconds Yaz stayed frozen, completely rooted to the spot. Her mind flashed back to that dream in the TARDIS, now several weeks gone. It had been fading then, from the moment she’d unhooked from the TARDIS herself, but how could such a detail have slipped her mind?

_The Doctor slipped the pocket watch into a small alcove in the console perfectly shaped for the device, wiring it in to some sort of connection Yaz couldn’t see—though it was obviously related to the headgear. Then she shoved the headgear—the Chameleon Arch—onto her head, uttered a few reassuring words to the console, and flipped the switch that sent her screaming into a fit of agony._

The watch was related—it had to be, somehow. Why else would the Doctor wire it into the console, pull it out from the same place she’d brought the headgear? There had to be—

“Yaz, you okay?”

Yaz blinked, startled, and realized she was staring at the watch. Mae was watching her, hurt marred with confusion, and Yaz suddenly snapped back to their earlier conversation.

“Oh—oh, yeah!” She had to think of something quick, something to cover up her lapse of several seconds, and hopefully wipe away the bitter disappointment in Mae’s face, because she looked as if she had just been shot down by Dr. Brooks himself—which was a painful sight, and moreso because Yaz knew she’d caused it.

“I just—” she racked her brain, trying to think of a good excuse. “I think I’ve seen that watch before.”

Mae raised her eyebrows. “Really?”

“Yeah, definitely—in a store, I think, in Sheffield. You sure it’s from your family?”

“Pretty sure, yeah.” Mae was looking at her oddly, her eyes narrowed as they roamed over Yaz’s face. That hurt was still present though, but now it was drawing back, shuttering into a look Yaz had seen many times before—on the Doctor’s face. It was the look of somebody who’d decided to keep something a secret.

“It’s been in my family for ages, all the way to my great-great-grandfather. Wouldn’t likely be in a shop either, seeing as it’s broken. See?” she pressed the release button at the top, and Yaz drew in a breath, half-expecting something to happen—but nothing did, because the watch didn’t open. “You’d have to pry it open with your fingers. I wouldn’t try, though—don’t want to break it.”

She slipped it back into her pocket, and Yaz’s eyes followed it longingly. “Wait—so you carry it around all the time then? Don’t you worry about losing it?”

“Nah.” Mae withdrew her hand and patted her pocket reassuringly. “Safer when it’s on me, isn’t it? I don’t usually take it out though, just keep it as a good luck charm. And to calm my nerves, I suppose.”

_Calm her nerves._ A lightning bolt of guilt hit Yaz. She had never seen Mae withdraw the watch until now, when she’d just divulged what she probably considered to be her greatest secret. And Mae was already not looking at her, her eyes instead sliding to the curtain shielding the alcove, and any moment she looked as if she were about to announce they get back to work. Gone was the open excitement with which she’d divulged to Yaz her goal, and in its place was a closed-off look, even the hurt gone from her eyes. She wasn’t looking at Yaz like they were friends—she wasn’t looking at Yaz at all.

_Yeah, because she told you her dreams and you pretty much stomped on them._

At last, Mae spoke. “Listen, Yaz, it’s about time we get back to work—”

“I think you’d be a great doctor!”

“Huh?” Her gaze fell from the curtain, her eyes refocusing on Yaz. For a moment, there was confusion, and then a tentative smile slid across her face. “Wait—you’re just telling me that, aren’t you?”

“Not at all,” Yaz said, and meant it. “Really, I see how much you study—and I can tell how smart you are, how good at your job. And who says only men can be doctors? Or the upper class? Your brain is just as good as any of theirs, I reckon.”

Mae was grinning fully now, her eyes sparkling with excitement and some other emotion Yaz couldn’t quite figure out. “That’s what I keep saying! Nobody believes me though, not even the other sisters. They all just think I’m a nutter. I think Dr. Brooks might be leaning that way as well.”

Her voice dropped despondently towards the end, and Yaz, watching her, gave an encouraging nudge to her shoulder. “Well, the way I see it, if Dr. Brooks doesn’t give you that recommendation than he’s the nutter.”

Mae just shook her head, though she couldn’t keep the buoyant joy off her face. It occurred to Yaz that this might be the first time Mae had ever heard anybody say that her dream wasn’t completely daft, and protectiveness surged through her at the thought. “Oh, Yasmin Khan, I could kiss you right now.”

Of all of the things Yaz had thought Mae would say, she hadn’t seen that one coming. She fumbled her reaction instantly, ducking her head and shoving her hands into her pockets.

“Oh, well, I think something like that would completely bash your chances in,” she muttered quickly, heart pounding like a jackhammer. She didn’t know what else to say, so she stayed silent, and after a moment forced herself to look up.

Mae was watching her, that strange, contemplative look once again on her face. Her head was tilted slightly to the side, causing a few blond strands of her to fall across her cheek, which she reached up to brush away. Her nose scrunched as she did so, and it suddenly struck Yaz how remarkably pretty she looked. “Yeah, I suppose it probably would, wouldn’t it?”

She smiled the kind of smile that meant she wasn’t serious, but the joking aspect fell flat, and Yaz suddenly had the wildest feeling that she absolutely was. Which didn’t make sense, on any number of scales, because this was the 19th century, and women didn’t think like that, and morever she was pretty sure the _Doctor_ didn’t think like that, or at least not towards Yaz, so they couldn’t possibly—

“Nurse!” the cry jolted them out of their reverie, and for a moment Yaz saw her own bitter regret reflected on Mae, before she brushed past Yaz and slipped out from behind the curtain, moving toward the source of the shout. Yaz stayed a second longer, still frozen, as she tried to get her features under control, before she too finally moved out of the alcove and went to join Mae in attending the patient.

———

For the rest of the afternoon Yaz focused not on the watch, but on the preparation questions Mae threw at her, and tried not to think about the observation itself. She was determined to pass with flying colors, if not for herself, then for Mae. Fumbling the observation for herself was one thing; her medical career didn’t ride on it. Fumbling it for Mae now seemed nigh unthinkable.

They were still trading questions when the hour in which they were due to meet Dr. Brooks rolled around, but they fell silent as they approached the appointed place, at precisely five minutes before four, wary of being late for the second time in the day.

The doctor himself was five minutes late, and at 4:01, when Yaz turned to Mae to complain, she was immediately shushed with an eye roll, and a whispered, “Don’t, they’re all like that. I’ve never met a doctor on time in my life.”

Yaz nodded and bit her tongue, as an image of a certain untimely doctor rose to her mind as well.

When he at last rounded the corner, they immediately pulled themselves up straight, and Mae waited until he was properly close to call out, “Good afternoon, Dr. Brooks.”

“Afternoon, sisters.” he gave a curt nod of his head. He paused in front of them, extended his watch hand to check the time, and then gestured to the doorway. “I’m afraid we’ll have to get a move-on, I’m running a bit late for a meeting with the other heads of the wards. Shall we?”

They nodded together in return, and Mae spun around to enter first, patient records already in hand. Dr. Brooks stopped her. 

“Er, no—Sister Smith.” She stopped, confused, and he indicated for Yaz to come forward. “I’d like to see Miss Khan lead this one, I believe.”

Yaz hesitated, momentarily, and then gulped and stepped forward, hoping her apprehension wasn’t showing on her face. Dr. Brooks waited until she had stepped past Mae, and then cast a meaningful glance toward the patient records in Mae’s hands.

“Oh—oh, right!” Mae thrust the records towards Yaz. “Take it away Yaz, it’s all yours.”

With her back to Dr. Brooks, she gave Yaz a quick wink, and then stepped back, and waved towards the door. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“Yes, as soon as possible, however.” Dr. Brooks’ voice sounded strained with impatience, and Yaz could have laughed, if she weren’t suddenly so nervous. She pushed the door open and stepped inside, and heard the others following suit. 

She could do this. She had to—for Mae. Yaz didn’t really care how well she did for herself, and wasn’t particularly worried about harming patients—this wasn’t a difficult room in terms of medical duties—but she had the feeling that Dr. Brooks was going to be quizzing her on all matter of subjects, whether they were part of her present duties or not. 

With the patient files in hand, and the tense feeling of Dr. Brooks’ eyes on her back, she began to move through the beds, looking over each patient as she went. There wasn’t much to parse out in terms of medical treatment, but each bed required that she do a visual check-up, examine for any signs of infection, follow any special instructions on the patient’s record, and take her own notes as well. Mae had also told her that it was good form to provide a little in the way of conversation, if the patient happened to be awake.

They had done such rounds together dozens of times, her and Mae, but Yaz had never done it alone. Still, she let Mae’s encouraging nods and supportive glances steel her against the intimidating figure of Dr. Brooks, who watched her rather impassively throughout the entire process, breaking his heavy silence only to ask the occasional question related to her nursing knowledge. She fielded them all easily, and couldn’t help but be a little proud of herself as they finished the room and returned to stand in the doorway.

They crowded outside of the doorway and into the empty hall, already beginning to grow darker with the first signs of dusk. Dr. Brooks glanced at his watch, and Yaz felt the sting of satisfaction as she caught sight of the hour: 4:35. She had finished in record time, and without skipping on anything.

“So, Sister Khan.” He stuck his hands in his pockets, and pointed his chin towards Mae. “I can see this one’s taught you well.”

“Yes, sir,” Yaz answered, and flushed faintly with pride. Her eye caught Mae, who, behind Dr. Brooks’ back, gave her a relieved smile and a quick thumbs-up. 

“I see.” Yaz half-expected Dr. Brooks to deliver some sort of praise, towards her or towards Mae—who really deserved it. Instead he stared over her head, and frowned at the wall, as if trying to decide something. “Alright, since we finished early I do have a few more questions for you.”

Yaz almost shrugged, and then realized that that wouldn’t look very good, for neither Mae or herself. Instead she replied, “I’m happy to answer, sir.”

“What are the four stages of mitosis?”

Yaz felt her look of triumph slide away—and behind Dr. Brooks she saw Mae’s expression do the same. Her gaze flickered back up to Dr. Brooks, a picture of confusion. “Sir…? That’s not part of my—”

“Yes, but I saw you studying this afternoon.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Now, do you know the four stages, or not?”

In truth, Yaz hadn’t been listening very well to Mae that afternoon. However, she had listened very well during her school years. 

“Prophase, metaphase, anaphase, and telophase…sir.”

Behind Dr. Brooks, Yaz saw Mae shoot her a look of surprise. Yaz met her eyes, and gave the most minuscule shift of her shoulders.

“Hmm.” Dr. Brooks considered this, rocking back on his heels. “And I don’t suppose you know the difference between red and white blood cells?”

“Um—” Distracted by watching Mae, Yaz glanced back at Dr. Brooks, and then quickly racked her brain, trying to remember what she had learned back in school. “It’s a difference in function, isn’t it? Red blood cells carry gases, and white blood cells fight invaders—uh, infection and all that. Um, sir.”

Now both Dr. Brooks and Mae were wearing twin expressions of shock. Yaz almost would have been pleased with herself, but she couldn’t avoid the feeling that there was something off about the entire conversation. As if Dr. Brooks was egging her on into tripping up, into trying to confess to something wrong she had done.

Perhaps she should lie.

But Yaz had always been a good student, the one who brought whom perfect marks, while Sonia floundered, and then argued with their parents. Doing well in school was Yaz’s _thing,_ especially during the last few years of high school, when she hadn’t had many friends. So when Dr. Brooks asked his last question, an incredibly easy one, Yaz couldn’t resist.

“And do you know what platelets are?”

“They’re like cells, I think, but they’re not really—they help clot up blood. Isn’t that right sir?”

Mae was staring at her in open-mouthed astonishment. Dr. Brooks’ expression leaned more towards disbelief. His eyes narrowed.

“So I suppose nursing isn’t the only thing Sister Smith has been teaching you?”

This caught Yaz off-guard. She looked at him, and opened her mouth, but didn’t know what to say. Should she deny it? Pretend that Mae had crammed all that knowledge into her head during lunch? She didn’t know what to do.

“Actually sir, I have.” Mae took a step forward to plant herself into the conversation, and both Dr. Brooks and Yaz their gazes towards her. Yaz managed to grab her eye just long enough to mouth ‘what are you doing?’, before Mae looked straight up into Dr. Brooks’ face and said, “Sister Khan is very smart and eager to learn, sir. I thought it couldn’t hurt to teach her a little extra, s’long as she knows her regular duties first. And I think she just demonstrated that she does, very well.”

She rattled off the speech with a smoothness that suggested either she’d been practicing or it was the truth. Yaz suspected the former, but Dr. Brooks was clearly unsure; he surveyed her for several long moments, a deep furrow in his brow. At long last, he said, “I see. Well then, I suppose we’ll need to have that talk you’ve been wanting, Sister Smith.”

Yaz wasn’t sure what this meant, but Mae seemed to brighten considerably, though she wisely kept a smile off her face. Dr. Brooks checked his watch again, and his eyes widened slightly. “…but not today. Meet me tomorrow in my office, after lunch. I’ll let you know the exact time later.”

He returned the watch to his pocket, and looked between the two of them one last time. “And ladies, like I said earlier; please keep the book-learning away from your shift hours. I appreciate your enthusiasm, but you both have jobs to do.”

Their ‘yes sirs’ rang out at the same time, and the doctor dipped his head in a slight nod before turning on his heel. He didn’t say goodbye, but strode off, leaving his reprimand as his final words. Yaz was starting to think he secretly enjoyed doing that.

As soon as he had turned the corner, Mae turned to her and punched her on the arm, strong enough to hurt. 

“Ow!” Yaz complained, and clutched her shoulder. “What was that for?”

“For giving me so many heart attacks today!” Mae said fiercely, though it was clear from the excitement dancing in her eyes that she wasn’t entirely serious. “Honestly, where did you learn all that? Have you been studying my books after I go to bed?”

Yaz grimaced, and made a show of wringing her arm out. “I studied biology in school, you know. Everybody in…Sheffield, does. It’s part of our curriculum.”

For a moment, Mae looked impressed, and then her expression changed. “Oi, and you told me you didn’t know anything today! Why’d you let me go on about mitosis? I could’ve actually done some of the interesting stuff.”

“Oh, well—” For the billionth time that day, Yaz groped for an excuse. She was finding it increasingly hard to keep track of her lies. “Well, you seemed really happy to teach me, and I thought it was really nice of you to give me a chance at all, so I just sort of…panicked, I suppose.”

“You…panicked?” Mae wasn’t buying it. Yaz tried again, this time closer to the truth.

“Yeah, but it was hard to focus because you were sort of, um…” she cleared her throat, and mimed space with her hands. “…in my personal space.”

“Oh.” Mae’s eyes widened. She swallowed, hard. “Sorry, next time I’ll, um...keep a distance."

“Yeah,” Yaz responded quickly, and resisted heaving a sigh of relief. Her words had done the job—she’d kept Mae from focusing on her paper-thin excuses. Only now she’d led the conversation in exactly the wrong direction again, and she couldn’t figure out how it had happened. “Thanks. Next time.”

“Right.” An awkward silence ensured—really, Yaz thought, it was ridiculous how often they’d begun to fall into these—and then Mae brightened, and her expression turned teasing. “That’s pretty fancy for a small town, though. Guess I should’ve gone to school up in Sheffield, yeah? Hey, we might’ve been schoolmates.”

Yaz smiled, thankful for the quick turn in conversation. “You’d have to find it on a map, first.”

“Oi! I know how to find my way around. I got here, didn’t I?”

The memory of a vividly familiar conversation floated across Yaz’s brain. She pushed it away, and made a face. “So did I, but that’s not saying much.”

Mae grinned, broadly. “Good thing you did though. Couldn’t imagine this place without you.”

Yaz returned her grin, and ignored the spark of guilt that flickered in her chest at the statement. She’d known from the start that she wasn’t long for the hospital—but only now was it hitting her that Mae wasn't, either. And suddenly, something about that simple fact sent her heart aching. Even though it was what she’d wanted all along.

Because funnily enough, she couldn’t imagine the hospital without Mae Smith either.

————

It was just half an hour shy of the end of his shift, and as usual, Ryan was cleaning. 

It still stung him somewhat that he ended up doing all the menial labor whilst Graham sat at a desk and Yaz actually learned some kind of job. There were a couple medical duties he had, of course, but apparently it was the nurses who did most of the work after the doctors, and the orderlies who did most of the work after that. And, of all the work that made it that far down in the totem pole, most of it involved cleaning.

And now Stewart wasn’t even there to help him—or oversee him, and Ryan couldn’t decide if that was a positive or not. Since his sudden change in personality, Stewart had taken to disappearing most of the day, reappearing only at meals and at the oddest of times, and usually right behind Ryan, or so it seemed like. Whereas before his change the corporal had stomped everywhere he went, now he had the stealth of a cat, and it was unnerving.

The only good thing was that now Stewart was almost never around to tell Ryan off, and even if he was around, he rarely did so anyway. Instead he had taken on Lewitt’s habit of staring at Ryan, which was just as unsettling as it had been with Lewitt, and was enough to convince Ryan that the two were somehow related. Yaz and Graham agreed as well, though they didn’t get much time to discuss it among the three of them. Though Ryan no longer had the corporal constantly riding him beyond the end of his shift, and was thus able to slip away more often, he almost never caught up with Yaz. Graham was pretty dependable, since he was now more or less allowed to set his own hours, but Yaz seemed to be constantly by Mae’s side. Or maybe it was Mae who was constantly by her side. From what Ryan had seen the few times he’d caught up with Yaz and Mae in the hallways, they seemed a lot…friendlier. Almost like she had been with the Doctor, back on the TARDIS.

Only with a lot more blushing. Or rather, a lot more blushing on Mae’s side; Yaz still seemed more or less the same, from what Ryan could recall. It was enough to make him wonder, and he probably would have, if he wasn’t so constantly occupied with the foreboding presence of both Stewart, and Lewitt, who was still in the same bed and in the same hospital room, though Ryan could’ve sworn he should’ve been on his feet by now.

“Private. Are you finished?”

Ryan froze, and then slowly turned around. Corporal Stewart stared at him, unblinking as always, with nary a twitch. He hadn’t been there a moment before, Ryan was sure. How in the bloody hell did he manage to sneak around so well?

Ryan looked at the rag he’d been using to wipe down the cleaning alcove—even the _cleaning areas_ needed to be cleaned—and then looked up. “Um, I’ll finish it as fast as possible, corporal.”

His expression barely changed, but Ryan sensed that Stewart didn’t seem pleased at the idea. He shifted, minutely, as if searching for the correct way to phrase what he wanted. “No, I need a time frame. When will you be finished?”

That was another thing. Suddenly, it seemed as the corporal had forgotten how to do everything that he was meant to know—or at least, everything that Ryan was meant to know. Not to mention how fast he was supposed to do it. Ryan nearly grimaced as he recalled just how pressingly time-sensitive the corporal had made every task, before his change. Now, he didn’t care. Or rather, he seemed to want the opposite.

Well, screw it. Corporal Stewart stood there, waiting. Ryan looked again at his rag, then straightened up and forced himself to look Stewart directly in the eye, despite the uneasiness that washed over him.

“Probably another half an hour, at the least. I’ll keep on it though, corporal.”

_This_ seemed to satisfy him. Stewart nodded, a rare show of emotion, and said, “Excellent. I have business to attend to. I expect you to finish up your shift and report to your quarters.”

That was the phrase he always gave, at the end of the day: finish up and report to your quarters. In other words, go to sleep. Ryan had since learned that Stewart far from cared if he did anything else, so long as he did eventually end up in bed. At least, this version of Stewart didn’t care.

“Yes, corporal.”

“Good.” Without another word, Stewart spun around and made a beeline for the door. Ryan watched him go, curiosity warring with caution in his head. Where was Stewart always going off to? He didn’t meet up with the other orderlies—Ryan had checked. And Graham had asked around with the officers to confirm that he didn’t go off with them either. No, he was heading off somewhere else, somewhere secret. Once or twice, Ryan had even thought about following him. He’d never had the courage too.

But Yaz and Graham would know he was missing, if he disappeared, right? They would search for him if something happened. And if Stewart—who by now, Ryan was 100% certain wasn’t Stewart at all—was planning something, that had to be the something they had to protect the Doctor from, didn’t it? And if it was, then somebody had to check it out.

And nobody was in the right place to do it, except him. Ryan looked at the door, and wanted to groan. If he left this instant, he could probably catch sight of Stewart in the hall. He could probably still follow him.

He didn’t want to. He definitely, with absolutely no doubt in his mind, did not want to follow Stewart to wherever it was he was creeping off to. 

Ryan heaved a deep breath, and then tossed his rag into the sink. Quickly, before he lost his nerve, he pushed the curtain of the cleaning alcove back and strode down the aisle of the hospital room, to the door through which Stewart had vanished only moments before. He pushed it open, and glanced around, half hoping he wouldn’t catch a glimpse of anybody.

But as he turned his head to the left her caught sight of Stewart’s towering form rounding the corner, and so with only a little hesitation he plunged out of the room and followed him, slowing only to keep up a careful distance between the corporal and himself.

It didn’t appear to matter though, because Stewart wasn’t looking back. He did, occasionally, but only when other people walked by, and his eyes only tracked their movements for a few moments before returning to the front, though just to be safe Ryan attempted to stay at least one hallway behind him at all times. He wasn’t hard to follow, for he walked down a very straightforward path, heading, Ryan realized after a couple of hallways, towards the stairs. 

Was he going down or up? There wasn’t much up to go, since the only things above them were a few more floors of identical hospital rooms, and Ryan didn’t see what could be much interesting about that. Still, he kept behind him— _far_ behind him—determined, now that he had gotten this far, not to let him get away.

And then, just as he rounded the last hallway before the entrance to the stairwell, somebody reached out and grabbed him roughly by the back of his shirt.

Ryan almost let out a cry of alarm but a familiar “Shh!” shut him up just in time. He stumbled backwards slightly, and then felt the hand holding his shirt release it, and turned around.

_“Yaz!_ What’re you doing?” he whispered fiercely, though by now Stewart was long gone. Yaz shrunk back in surprise, but recovered just as quickly.

“What are _you_ doing?” she shot back. “You never came to the supply closet! Me and Graham have been waiting for you, shouldn’t your shift be done by now?”

“Yeah, but—” Ryan groaned, and ran a hand over his head. “I was doing something important! And since when do you ever come to our meetings?”

Yaz balked, mouth hanging open, and then snapped it shut and frowned. “That’s not fair—you know I’m with Mae all the time! She gets suspicious if I go off.”

“Yeah, and I’m sure you’re not having fun with that.” The words were out of Ryan’s mouth before he could stop them. It wasn’t meant to be a pointed jab—just an outpouring of frustration at the wrong person. 

To his surprise, however, Yaz turned red. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Uh…” Now it was Ryan’s turn to leave his mouth hanging open. He quickly weighed his options, and realized that it was too late. He had gone in too deep. “Well, you know…”

Yaz stepped back, crossed her arms. She was still red, but now it was closer to anger than embarrassment. “No, I don’t. What’re you getting at?”

“I just mean…” Ryan scratched his head as he pretended to think. The trouble was, he knew exactly what he meant. Only now he was starting to realize that Yaz might not. “I mean, you guys are pretty friendly, aren’t you? I’ve seen you laughing in the hallways and everything. It’s almost like you’re treating her like she’s the Doctor, and not just some disguise.”

“She’s—it’s not—” Yaz stuttered into speechlessness. “It’s not like that at all! I _know_ she’s not the Doctor, Ryan! I’m just trying to make sure she believes—”

“That you guys are friends?”

Yaz stopped short, and then huffed. “Something like that.”

“Fine, fine.” Ryan raised his hands in surrender. He was still burning over his almost successful reconnaissance mission, and he had no desire to get into an argument over how friendly Yaz wanted to get with their not-Doctor. It wasn’t as if it would affect their mission, anyway. “I just don’t want it to be hard for you, when she changes back.”

“It won’t be.” Yaz shook her head to drive the point home. Then she smiled, though it was a bit forced. “Actually, that’s why I wanted to talk to you and Graham. I think I found something.”

———

“So she has the pocket watch, but she can’t open it?”

Graham stared, his eyebrows raised in question. They were standing outside the supply closet, as none of them had a candle to spare, trying for all the world to look as if they were putting on casual conversation.

“No, she can open it, but she won’t,” Yaz corrected him. “She said it’s broken, but you could probably pry it open with your fingers. Her exact words.”

“Well then, what are we waiting for?” Ryan tossed his hands in the air. “I don’t know about you lot, but I’m sick and tired of cleaning this entire bloody hospital. There’s gotta be a reason she won’t open it. Why don’t we open it and see what happens?”

Yaz glared at him. “Oh, so I’m just supposed to pry it out of her hands?”

“No, you’re supposed to sneak it out of her pocket when— _when she’s not looking.”_ Ryan’s voice rose, and then abruptly fell into a hush as an orderly passed the little group by, and gave them a strange look. Yaz ignored the orderly to stare at Ryan, her face clouded with disbelief.

“I’m not just gonna go into her things!”

“Oh, so we’re just going to wait around here until—”

“Oh, shut up, both of you!”

This was Graham, his voice barely above a whisper, but it carried enough to send them both into silence. He passed a glance towards both of them, making sure neither was about to pipe up again, and then turned to Yaz first and spoke.

“I’m sorry Yaz, but I think Ryan’s right—but—!” he held up a finger as she opened her mouth to respond. When she snapped it shut, glaring, he turned towards Ryan. “But Yaz has a point too. We can’t just plunge in like that. If Mae notices Yaz take it, she’ll never trust her again, and what if it doesn’t do anything? Then we’ve lost our only clue, and our only in with the Doctor.”

“Yeah, but—” Ryan began, only to pause as Graham threw him a look. He only paused for a moment, however, and then continued, albeit in a calmer tone. “Okay, I see your point. But we can’t just sit by and do nothing. We’ve gotta at least take a look at the watch, if nothing else.”

“I agree,” Graham said, ignoring the look Yaz was currently shooting them both. “We’ve got to examine it if we can. That’s why Yaz has got to get her hands on it.”

At this, Yaz couldn’t hold back. “Whatever you think, I’m not going to steal it.”

“We’re not asking you to do that,” Graham told her reassuringly, at the same time that Ryan said “You’re gonna have to.”

They stopped, and exchanged a glance, and then Ryan gave a reluctant nod, indicating for Graham to continue. He turned to Yaz, and said, “We won’t ask you to steal it. Just ask Mae if you can borrow it. Make up a story or something. What was that thing you said, about recognizing the watch?”

Yaz’s brow wrinkled as she thought back. “Yeah, I, uh, made up something about seeing the watch in Sheffield. Only because she caught me gaping at it, though.”

“Yeah, well, use that!” Graham said, and when Yaz kept staring at him in uncertainty, elaborated. “Tell her—oh, I dunno, that you’re really sure you saw a watch like that in Sheffield, and you happened to mention it to me—or Ryan—who said that their grandfather makes watches. So you want to borrow it, just for a day, because me or Ryan want to check the make of the watch, see if our grandfather really did make it. Something like that. It should be easy, with you two being such good friends and all now.”

He said the last part lightheartedly, and void of any double intentions, but oddly enough, Yaz turned pink at the words. She glanced quickly at Ryan before answering. “Uh, yeah, we’re friends. And I understand now, Graham, thanks. It seems reasonable to me.”

Ryan seemed to accept the idea as well, but didn’t look entirely happy about it. “Right, so can you do that tomorrow, Yaz? Or tonight?”

She gave him another look. “Alright, alright Ryan, keep a lid on. She’s probably in bed already. I’ll ask her tomorrow, okay?”

That was just a tiny bit of a lie, but Yaz wasn’t about to pester Mae while she was studying. After all, it was her fault Dr. Brooks had nearly banned her from doing it in the first place.

Ryan narrowed his eyes, as if he didn’t quite believe her, but after a moment he let up. “Yeah, okay. Just—remember, we all want the Doctor back, you know? It’s not just you.”

“I know, Ryan,” Yaz answered indignantly. “We all do. You, and me, and Graham as well.”

“Well actually, being an admin officer does have its perks—” Graham interjected.

“Yeah, alright Grandad, we know you hate it,” Ryan cut him off, but couldn’t prevent a laugh from bubbling up his throat. “What is that, reverse psychology?”

“A cry for help, I think,” Yaz added. Even she allowed a smile at Graham’s attempt at humor. Graham, for his part, just shrugged.

“Sure, suit yourselves, but I’m telling you, being an officer has its perks. I’ve never eaten better in my life.”

Ryan snorted in disgust. “Liar.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dont have anything to say about this chapter except go ryan


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is literally the chapter ive been waiting to write since i started

The entire next morning, Mae was edgy. It was hard not to notice, the way she kept glancing at the clock and moving things around that didn’t need to be moved around, wiping things down that didn’t need to be cleaned. Yaz couldn’t help but notice, especially when, as they stole a rare moment of downtime in an empty examination room, she took out her watch and began to turn it over and over again in her hands.

Yaz watched her as she did so, sympathy rising in her chest. She wanted to say something, to comfort her, but every time she tried to think of what to say, it occurred to her that _now_ was the perfect time to ask about the watch. To maneuver it away from her. Only she couldn’t bring herself to ask. How could she, when Mae was clearly so agitated about her meeting with Dr. Brooks? Taking it away was to take away her only comfort object. And who knew if they would be able to return it? What if it broke, as they tried to pry it open? Yaz would have a fun time explaining _that_ one.

Mae didn’t notice her staring. She was looking at the clock on the wall, anxiety writ into every line of her face. The watch turned over and over in her hands. Yaz stared, trying to come to a decision.

Finally, she said, “A few minutes longer, and it’ll look new.”

Mae looked at her, startled from her reverie, and then glanced at the watch and laughed. “Oh, I didn’t even notice. Yeah, it is looking a little better, dontcha think?”

She held it out to Yaz to examine, though she didn’t seem particularly invested in the observation. Her eyes flickered back to the clock, and Yaz followed them. It was nearly three thirty, long past the time Dr. Brooks had announced yesterday.

“You know, he’s probably planning to eat and then talk to you,” Yaz tried. Mae’s eyes fell back to her, and she drew her hand back, pocketing the watch. Then she sighed.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. It’s just—it’s kept me on edge, right? Because yesterday I was thinking he meant something good, only now I’m starting to realize that he didn’t really say anything one way or the other. And the thing with the books—”

“I don’t think that matters,” Yaz said. Mae gave her a doubtful look. “Really, it doesn’t. If he’s any kind of doctor, he’ll realize that you’re actually amazing, because you’ve managed to do nursing _and_ studying, without them affecting one or the other. How can that not be a good thing?”

Mae blushed lightly at the compliment. She tried to smile, but it didn’t look entirely convincing. “Thanks, Yaz. You’re probably right. I just hate the waiting, y’know?”

“You always do,” Yaz replied before she could stop herself. Confusion crossed Mae’s face, and Yaz quickly amended her statement. “I mean, if you came all the way here just to get a recommendation instead of waiting til the doctor came back to the university…”

“Oh, that was different,” Mae said, but the worry disappeared, if only temporarily, from her face. Instead she settled for sticking her tongue out. “And you know what? I’m not taking you back with me, if you keep making such unsightly jabs about my character.”

“Oh—so you’re taking me back with you?” Yaz raised her eyebrows, while inside her heart fairly skipped a beat or two. Since when did they get to the point that Mae was inviting her back to England? What did she even mean by that?

“Well, no—I mean, not _taking_ you,” Mae clarified quickly. She flushed, but met Yaz’s eyes all the same, and for a moment Yaz caught sight of the real earnestness hiding in her hazel eyes. “I only meant—well, if I do go to study, they’ll be an opening for a department nurse, and they’ll probably ask me for a recommendation. With your war experience and me backing you, you could get it no problem. I was actually going to ask you, anyway…”

“Oh.” Yaz inhaled, realizing only peripherally that Mae was watching her, waiting for a reaction. “That’s— _wow._ You would really do that for me?”

“’Course I would!” Mae replied. A slow smile began to steal across her face at Yaz’s fairly-positive reaction. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

_Friends._ Yaz’s heart rate, which had been inching up with each passing second, slowed enough for her to get a grip on her scattered thoughts. “Right—’course we are. I just—” she shook her head, as if in disbelief. “—I haven’t even been thinking yet about after the war. But that’s—that’s something I’d never even dreamed of, working at a university.”

It sounded convincing enough to her ears, and apparently to Mae’s as well, for her face lit up and she grabbed Yaz by the shoulders, launching them both to their feet “Brilliant! Then we’ll be coworkers, and I’ll teach you all the tricks of the trade, and you’ll have an ear to complain to about all the obnoxious students that chase after you—”

“Er, Sister Smith?”

Mae dropped her arms like lightning and jumped back, just as Yaz looked over her shoulder to see an extremely puzzled orderly standing in the doorway. 

“Um, hi,” she called out to him, just as Mae spun around, grin sliding off her face, and into something closer to friendly professionalism. 

“Hiya, Jamison. What’s your trouble?”

Jamison shuffled his feet and glanced at the doorway, as if he couldn’t decide whether to enter or not. After a moment, he decided to play it safe and stayed in the doorway, straightening up and taking a step back for good measure.

“Dr. Brooks would like to see you in his office now—and he said come as quickly as possible, because he’s meeting with the administrative officer afterwards.” He glanced between the two of them, looking as if he wanted to ask something, but instead just said, “So you should, uh, get on over there, I reckon.”

“Thank you, Jamison,” Mae answered, her tone carefully polite.

He gave them one last look, as if trying to decipher something, and then gave a slight shake of his head and left. As soon as he did, Yaz and Mae turned to face each other. Yaz was enthusiastic, Mae apprehensive.

Mae spoke first. “Do you really think—”

“Dunno,” Yaz answered, and before Mae could protest, grabbed her by the arms and spun her towards the door. “But you heard him—get going!”

“Right, right,” Mae muttered, and let Yaz push her through the door, and, when she turned to the direction of Dr. Brooks’ office, even allowed Yaz to take a couple steps with her, before coming to her senses and turning around. “No—wait! Yaz, you can’t come with me, we’ve still got duties.”

“But—” Yaz started to object, and then realized Mae was right. Taking a short break in an examination room was one thing. Skipping out on scheduled duties was another, and someone would surely notice the absence. 

Yaz sighed. “Okay, you’re right. But you have to find me afterwards, okay? I’m going to be waiting in suspense the whole time.”

Mae winked, and followed it up with a mock salute. “Anything for Yasmin Khan.”

Yaz’s heart stuttered. She gulped, and almost fumbled her next words. “Yeah, and—don’t let him push you around, okay? You deserve this, Mae. More than anyone.”

And even though the words were genuine, maybe more than anything she’d said in her life, irony screamed at the back of her head. Of course Mae Smith deserved to be a doctor. She was kind and caring and whip-smart, and had a knack for medical care. Only she never would be. Not if Yaz and the others had anything to say about it.

Mae made a move as if to turn around, but then, before Yaz had time to react, she turned and scooped Yaz up in the tightest hug she had ever experienced. Yaz gasped, more out of surprise than the sudden lack of air in her lungs, but it only lasted for a few moments before Mae pushed her away. She smiled, a red-faced, nervous smile, and muttered a quiet ‘Thanks, Yaz’, before spinning around and taking off down the hallway.

Yaz stared after her, suddenly hot, her skin prickling all over her body. She had no idea what to do with her face, or her arms, so she turned around and went the opposite way, hoping she wouldn’t pass anybody in the halls—and _praying_ she wouldn’t pass Ryan or Graham. She didn’t think she would live it down.

———

Mae didn’t take a moment to compose herself as she arrived at Dr. Brooks’ door, but knocked immediately. She was afraid, illogically, that to keep him waiting would somehow convince him to put the meeting off, to the next day, or the day after that. Or never. Besides, she didn’t think it would help much. She had been oscillating between apprehension and excitement the entire walk to his office, and she couldn’t tell which one was winning. She wasn’t even sure which would be the better option with which to enter.

As soon as she knocked, two sharp raps loud enough to reverberate through the wood, she heard his voice call, “You may enter.”

He sounded as distracted as always, but Mae didn’t let that affect her. She turned the doorknob and stepped inside, and returned the short nod he gave her before closing the door behind her. He hadn’t told her to do so, but when she looked over at him he didn’t seem to mind. He was seated at his desk, a pen in his hand and several documents in front of him, but as she came forward to the center of the room he put the pen down, and pushed the documents to the side.

“Sister Smith, glad you could make it.” On anybody else she might have suspected sarcasm, but with Dr. Brooks it was impossible to ever be sure. He gestured to the empty chair across from him. “Sit down, please.”

Mae couldn’t hold back the surprise on her expression. She glanced at the chair, and then lowered herself to perch on the edge of the seat, trying to look as proper as she could. It was hard; such things had never come easily to her, and it wasn’t as if she had to care so much about being proper in a war zone.

As soon as she settled into her chair, the doctor began to speak. “So, from what I understood in our little conversation yesterday, you’ve been using your time here to study, I assume for the university entrance exams?”

Mae saw where he was going immediately. “Oh, no sir, not as you’ve said. I’ve—”

“But you have been studying?” he interrupted. Confusion flashed across Mae’s face.

“Yes, of course sir, but never during my shift, only at night. And yesterday, well that was a one-off thi—mistake, and—”

“I see, I see. Thank you, Mae.” She fell silent at his indication, and waited as he leaned back in his chair, and stroked his chin. He was staring into space, and seemed to be trying to decide something.

After several eternally long moments, he spoke. “I’m going to ask you to stop.”

_“What?”_ Mae half-stood out of her chair, and then, at Dr. Brooks’ warning glance, slid back down. “Sir, you can’t ask me—”

“Where are those books from?”

“Huh?”

“The books.” His hands moved to the desk in front of him as he leaned forward. His eyebrows raised in question. “The ones you’re using to study? I don’t believe you make enough off of a nursing salary to buy such expensive texts.”

Mae didn’t answer. She looked as if she had been trapped, her hands gripping the edge of her chair. Dr. Brooks watched her for a moment, two fingers tapping the surface of his desk.

“I suppose you took them from the university library, didn’t you?”

She still didn’t answer, but after a few seconds of silence he let out a sigh, and pushed away from his desk, heaving himself to his feet. His hands found his pockets, drawing his lab coat back from his uniform. He looked at Mae for a few seconds, and then turned towards the window. 

“I would have to report you for stealing, you know.”

At last, Mae found her voice. “I didn’t steal them, I borrowed them. I’ll be returning them as soon as I get back.”

“And that makes it all right, does it?” Dr. Brooks turned back towards her, and when he saw her expression, caught somewhere between outrage and injury, his gaze softened. “Mae, come on now. You must know this isn’t right. I can’t be responsible for a department nurse running off with university property. What if you’d lost them?”

“Well seeing as they’ve got loads of copies, I don’t think anybody would notice—”

“ _I_ noticed.”

Mae snapped her jaw shut. Dr. Brooks was looking at her, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, but her eyes were fixed on his desk, her expression unreadable. When she spoke, her voice was flat.

“So I suppose that’s it, then? You’re not recommending me?”

Dr. Brooks coughed. “I should think not. Unfortunately, I simply can’t find it in my conscience to recommend somebody who would take university property for her own means. It wouldn’t be right, Mae—and it would fall back on me, as well, if you lost them. I’m sure you understand.”

“….I do.” Her response came slowly. She still didn’t look at him. “Well, I’ll see myself out.”

“Er—yes, of course.” He seemed surprised that she had capitulated so quickly. He gestured towards the door, and she rose to her feet. “And Mae,”—she paused— “don’t take this too harshly, alright? I appreciate your drive and ambition, but we don’t need that here. We need nurses who can focus, without distractions.”

“Yes sir, I understand.” She turned to leave, and he gave a brisk nod before sliding back into his seat and picking up his pen. He didn’t wish her a goodbye, nor did he look up when he heard the sound of the knob turning, followed by the creak of the door.

He _did_ look up when the door slammed shut, startling him badly, and saw Mae glaring at him with a look that might have made him tremble, if he was the kind of man to do so. 

Dr. Brooks opened his mouth to say something—issue a reprimand, maybe—but she beat him to the punch. “Actually, I don’t understand.”

“You don’t—”

“Your reasoning!” she threw her hands up in the air and crossed the room to tower over him, sat at his desk. He leaned back instinctively, and then seemed to remember that _he_ was the one meant to be in charge, and straightened up again.

“I’ve seen loads of students take books out and keep them for months on end, because the library doesn’t charge late fees.” She jabbed a finger at his nose, and he flinched back, slightly. “I’ve even seen you take out books and leave them lying around! So how is it that when _I_ take out a couple books on the medical sciences, I’m suddenly stealing?”

She withdrew her finger and leaned back slightly, giving him room to breathe. Dr. Brooks drew in a breath, and brought up a nervous hand to adjust his tie. “Well it’s, uh, a bit different taking university texts to a war zone, Sister Smith. You’ve taken them all the way across the world, for God’s sake.”

Mae stared at him a moment in disbelief, and then spun on her heel, and marched to a bookcase tucked to the right hand corner of the door. It was the doctor’s personal collection of literature, a mixture of classics and medical texts, as well as some journals and compiled essays. All his.

But Mae reached the bookcase and, with no warning, began to pull books off the shelves, glancing at each one. The first few she tossed immediately to the side, sending them crashing to the floor.

Dr. Brooks leapt furiously to his feet. “What are you—”

“Here!” Mae rounded on him, a book splayed open in her hands, and point to the inside cover, where a short sentence was scrawled. “See? University property!”

She tossed it to the side, and kept rummaging through the bookcase. “Ooh look, another one!” 

She pulled out the second text, splayed it open, and jabbed a finger toward the scrawled claim on the inside cover. “ _You_ brought _this_ halfway across the world!”

She snapped it shut and threw it to the side, before turning again to the bookcase. By now Dr. Brooks, scarlet with anger, had moved out from behind his desk was bearing down on her.

“I will _not_ have you destroying my personal—” he reached her just as she snatched another book off the shelf and flipped it open, only for him to yank it out of her hands. “—belongings!”

With no books in hand and the doctor towering over her, Mae settled for crossing her arms and glaring up at him. “Not so personal though, are they? That one was from the university too by the way, I saw the claim in it.”

Dr. Brooks scowled and shoved the book back into the shelf. “Sister Smith, this is ridiculous and unprofessional, and you best watch your mouth before I have you thrown out of this room, and this hospital!”

She wasn’t moved by the threat. Probably she’d already seen such a thing coming when she’d started throwing books across the room. Instead she stared at him, seething, and then finally said in a dangerously low voice, “I just want to know why.”

“Why—” Dr. Brooks stared at her in utter disbelief, and then shook his head, and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Fine! You want to know why?”

He turned around and stomped to his desk, Mae watching him in surprise. She hadn’t expected an answer, but it appeared as if she were about to get one—he was pulling out drawers, searching for something of which she could only guess at. 

It didn’t take long before he found what he was searching for—a single sheet of paper, which he slammed on the desk with a flourish. Mae, despite herself, drew closer; she didn’t understand what one page could tell her about the doctor’s reasons for keeping her from university.

But as she got close enough to see it, her confusion only deepened. It was her performance record, all the way back to when she’d arrived at the hospital. She looked at it, a question in her eyes, and then looked up at Dr. Brooks.

“If you’re trying to prove to me I’m not qualified, you’re not doing a great job,” she said stiffly, and pointed at the paper. “I know I’m better than any nurse here, and you’ve got it proven in print.”

“Exactly,” Dr. Brooks growled, still clearly angry about the book-throwing. He stabbed a finger onto the paper. “You’re an excellent nurse, Mae. Better than any I’ve worked with, certainly better than any of the nurses on staff. You could have a great position as a matron at some school, or even make it to head nurse at the university, if you put your mind to it.”

Mae looked at him uncertainly, still not following. “Then why don’t you recommend me, if I’m so good? If I’m a good nurse, I’m sure I can make an even better—”

But Dr. Brooks was shaking his head. “That’s not how it works, and you know it, Mae, if you’ve studied anything. A man’s brain is naturally bigger than a woman’s. Why do you think we make men doctors, and women nurses? You may be smart, but no matter how much you study, you’ll never be able to reach a man’s natural capacity. It’s just not possible.”

“That’s—” Mae’s mouth hung open, gobsmacked. She didn’t even know how to respond. “That’s just a theory, that doesn’t mean they’ve _proved_ something like—”

Dr. Brooks cut her off with a sigh, and muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously familiar to ‘crazy women’. Mae flushed again, angrily, and was about to continue her tirade, but he spoke first. “Mae, let’s be serious. Calm down for a moment, and see that I’m doing something in your best interest.”

“I hardly think—”

He plowed right over her. “I’m not about to waste an excellent nurse just because she has some halfcocked idea to go off and be a doctor. You’re pushing yourself to destruction, Mae. Do you really want to get a year into university, and realize you can’t handle it?”

She glowered at him. “Awful presumptuous of you, to assume I can’t handle it.”

Dr. Brooks looked at her, sympathy in his eyes. The anger on his face had almost completely faded. Now there was only a condescending pity. “I’m just doing what’s best for you. We are coworkers after all. Well, we were. I’m afraid I’m going to have to transfer you now. You can’t remain here if you’re unable to control your emotions when we talk.”

Mae jerked back in shock, but only for an instant before she recovered, and set her jaw. “Transfer me where?” 

She was still half-angry, her stance rigid and eyes sparking. Dr. Brooks waved his hand dismissively. “Somewhere closer to the line I expect. Not out of contempt, mind you, just due to the need. There’s a lot of ill and wounded men up there, they could use another set of hands.”

“Right.” Mae nodded, still angry—but it was a helpless rage now, most of it spent on the books tossed across the room. Her hands clenched into white-knuckled fists, but Dr. Brooks didn’t appear to notice, or care. He sat back down at his desk, and reached once more for his papers. 

“So that’s it then?”

He didn’t even spare a glance. “I believe it is.”

Mae watched him, and her shoulders sagged. It was clear she had lost. They both knew it. “Right, okay. Well, Dr. Brooks. I can’t say it was nice knowing ya.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to disagree, Sister Smith. It’s a pity things ended up this way.”

Mae shook her head, but didn’t respond. Instead she turned on her heel and yanked the door open, slipping out into the hallway with out single look back. 

The resulting slam of the door behind her sent echoes throughout the entire hallway.

———

The only upside to the hour Yaz worked alone was that Dr. Brooks wasn’t there to observe her. She spent the entire time terribly distracted. She knew that Mae knew where to find her—how could she not? They made the same circuits every day—and every minute, she kept expecting Mae to come around the corner, or fling open the door of the room Yaz was working in, smile bright with good news. Or she might slink in with the wind out of her sails, and bad news writ all over her expression. At this point, Yaz wasn’t sure which would be better—though she undeniably hoped for the first.

But Mae did neither, because she didn’t come back at all. Fifteen minutes slid into half an hour, which eventually turned to forty-five minutes gone by, with no sign of her. After three-quarters of an hour, Yaz forced herself to keep her head down and focus on her work, which became especially vital when she nearly gave one patient medicine meant for another. The man gave her a dirty look, and muttered something about unprofessionalism, which made Yaz duck her head guiltily. She was only there to be undercover, true, but she really didn’t want to kill anybody. 

Nearly an hour after Mae had left, Yaz finished with the one room and took her leave, albeit reluctantly. Mae would have more trouble finding her now, since she would have to make her way around several floors to complete various errands—but it wasn’t like she could wait for her forever. And perhaps she wasn’t even done yet. How long could it take to write out a recommendation, anyway?

Her first stop was the medical waste disposal room, where she rid herself of various used dressings and supplies. Once finished, she moved on to the cleaning supply closet to pick up some rags and disinfectant, hoping that the cleaning would distract her. There was always cleaning to be done in the hospital, a lesson she had learned quickly in her new job.

The cleaning supply closet was a fair distance from the waste disposal room, for obvious reasons, but Yaz barely paid attention as she traipsed through the hallways. She was too caught up in worry about Mae, and how the meeting was working out for her. However, every time she thought about Mae, her thoughts eventually circled around guiltily to thoughts of hers and Ryan’s and Graham’s mission, and what she was supposed to do about it all.

Yaz wanted the Doctor back. She did—more than anything. But inexplicably, some part of her quailed at the thought of wiping Mae out of existence. She was a person, wasn’t she? A real person with hopes and—and _dreams,_ who managed to be kind and funny while still laughing at Yaz’s jokes. She was a lot like the Doctor, sure, but she wasn’t the Doctor. She couldn’t be.

Or could she? After all, what parts of Mae—kindness, humor, warmth, a sharp wit and scary intelligence—didn’t exist in the Doctor? They even had the same laugh, the same smile, the same way of crinkling up their nose when something disappointed them. The gestures were all the same, and the personality too, but—there was some difference between the two as well, something Yaz couldn’t quite cipher.

Then again, maybe the only difference was that the Doctor was an alien, and Mae Smith was human. And maybe because she was human, Yaz found it easier to connect with her, which made it easy to trick herself in believing that Mae was more than just a facsimile. Or perhaps it was because Mae was so open with Yaz, so clearly reciprocative in their friendship, and the Doctor…really wasn’t.

None of it made sense—or rather some of it did, but not in a way Yaz wanted it to. And the deeper she dug into the tangled mess, the less she wanted to see, and yet it was impossible not to. It was an itch, right under her nose, that she tried to prevent herself from scratching at and failed every time.

So it was a bit of a relief, when Yaz passed by the examination room her and Mae had dawdled in earlier, and heard something clatter to the floor.

Yaz froze. Quickly, she shot a glance down both ends of the hallway, then sidled up to the door. Once she got closer, it became unmistakable; the sounds were coming from the room. Yaz pressed her ear to the door, listening, and heard another crash as something hit the floor—or maybe the wall. Then came the sound of footsteps, and angry muttering that sounded dangerously close to crying. No words were indistinguishable, but as soon as Yaz caught the sound, her heart plunged.

The voice was one she would have recognized a thousand miles away, because it belonged to Mae.

Without thinking, Yaz threw the door open and burst inside. “Why didn’t you—”

And then she stopped, when she saw the state of her. Mae’s dress was in disarray; her cap had fallen to the floor—or been ripped off—and her apron was gone as well, tossed over the examination bed. It had been tossed at such an angle that several pencils, a notebook, and the pocket watch had fallen to the floor, probably contributing to the sounds Yaz had heard outside. Another book—a medical text, it looked like—slumped against the far wall, as if it had been thrown. Which, Yaz realized, it probably had.

And as soon as Mae looked up, and caught her eye, Yaz’s heart shattered. It was clear she had been crying, from her red-rimmed eyes, but her look went far deeper than that. It was an expression of utter, angry helplessness, as if she wanted to cry but knew it wouldn’t help anything, wanted to hit something but knew it would be useless. Yaz knew that look. She had seen it in the mirror often enough, coming home after school with the miserable taunts and cruel tricks of Izzy Flint still ringing in her ears. She had seen it on Ryan and Graham after Grace’s funeral, when they’d all stood outside, her and the boys and the Doctor, and Ryan and Graham had exchanged a look they’d thought she hadn’t seen; one which simply said, “What now?”

It was the exact look the Doctor wore, when she sent Charlie into oblivion.

And now it was on Mae’s face, who looked up at Yaz and then down at herself, and then let out a bitter chuckle. “Sorry Yaz, I—well I suppose I got a little angry.”

Yaz looked at her, her heart pounding in her throat, and cracked a halfhearted smile. “It happens.” She closed the door behind her and stepped forward tentatively. “Can I ask…?”

“’Course you can,” Mae replied, and then without warning collapsed sitting onto the examination bed, and reached up to wipe angrily at tears threatening to spill. “You can ask anything you want,actually, and I’ll tell you. Like how I thought Dr. Brooks was a decent fellow, even thought he understood, but it turned out he was just playing me along and never had any intention of writing me out a recommendation in the first place.”

“Oh, _Mae,_ ” Yaz said, and strode over to the bed, and, without thinking, pulled her into an embrace. Yaz wasn’t a hugging person, not usually, but in this moment it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Mae responded, pulling her in close to bury her face in her shoulder.

After a moment she spoke, her words mumbled into Yaz’s collar. “You were right, Yaz. He was a bastard.”

Yaz drew back slightly, confused. “I never said that.”

Mae chuckled, and the feeling of it reverberated through Yaz’s collarbone. “Yeah, but I saw you thinking it ‘bout a dozen times.”

Despite Mae’s state, Yaz couldn’t help but let out a rueful laugh. “I thought I was being subtle.”

“You weren’t.” Mae looked up, her face only centimeters away from Yaz’s. “You’re the opposite of subtle.”

“Oh.” Yaz didn’t know what to say to that, and after a moment Mae pulled back, leaving Yaz to settle in beside her on the examination bed. She thought she should ask more about what had occurred, but she wasn’t sure what exactly to say. She didn’t want to make Mae more upset. And it wasn’t as if she had much experience with comforting friends.

“You know what else he told me?” Mae said after a short silence. Yaz looked up at her, then shook her head. “Well, first he tried to get me on stealing books, because I borrowed my texts from the university library. I proved him wrong on that point but then—”

“Huh? Proved him wrong how?”

Mae flushed, and then ducked her head embarrassedly. “I sort of…tore his bookshelf apart. He wasn’t too mindful about returning university books either.”

“You tore his…” Yaz repeated, stunned. Slowly, she shook her head in disbelief. “I can’t believe he didn’t do anything to you.”

“Well, actually—” Mae cringed at whatever it was she was about to say. As Yaz watched, she reached for her apron pocket, before remembering it wasn’t there. Her eyes searched until she caught sight of the pocket watch on the ground, well out of reach, and she just sighed. “He did do something to me. He got me transferred, probably closer to the front.”

“What?” Yaz cried, and leapt to her feet. Mae jerked up at the movement, startled. “You can’t—but—”

_How am I supposed to keep an eye on you at the front?_

But of course she couldn’t say that, so she just kept stumbling on words, as Mae stared at her in confusion. “You—you can’t go up there alone!”

“Well, I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” Mae asked cynically. “They won’t let me quit, you know. Not that I would want to.”

“Yeah, well—” Yaz racked her brain, trying to come up with something, anything. Nothing appeared, beside the obvious. “Well then, I’m coming with you.”

_“What?”_ now it was Mae’s turn to react in surprise. She slid off the examination bed as well, and faced Yaz, who couldn’t help but notice that she had a slight height advantage. “No _way._ It’s bad enough that I have to leave, I’m not dragging you up there with me!”

“You’re not _dragging_ me if it’s my choice!” Yaz retorted, only vaguely aware that her voice was rising in volume. She crossed her arms, and glared. “I’m going with you, Mae, and that’s final.”

“Oh, is it?” Now there was a dangerous glint in Mae’s eyes, her face growing red with anger. Clearly, she hadn’t entirely cooled off from her earlier encounter. “May I remind you that _I’m_ in charge of _you_ here, and not the other way around? You don’t get a transfer unless I approve it!”

“To hell with a transfer!” Yaz growled. She was close to yelling now, and a distant part of her knew that she was overreacting—and not only that, but being far too impulsive. She couldn’t just go off without warning Ryan and Graham, and talking things over. However, the larger part of her brain was too focused on the sudden panic that Mae was about to go off and leave, stranding Yaz and the boys here without her, and with nothing Yaz could do about it—unless she was stubborn. “If you go, I’m just going to follow you!”

At this, Mae paused, slightly taken aback. The anger—senseless, misdirected anger—was still there, but now there was bewilderment too. “Why are you so set on following me?”

This too took Yaz by surprise. She opened her mouth, realized she didn’t have a plausible reason, and closed it again. When she didn’t speak, the fire reignited in Mae’s eyes, and she took another step forward, closing the gap between them to just a few centimeters.

“Listen, _Yasmin Khan,_ ” she dragged out every syllable in her name. “I’m not stupid. Just because we’re friends doesn’t mean I don’t notice the way you look at me like there’s something wrong. Like I can’t handle being on my own. And I don’t know why that is, but I’m not going to let you bring yourself all the way to the front line just because you think I can’t take care of mys—”

She was hitting too close to home, and Yaz didn’t know what to do. Their faces were close enough to be touching, close enough that Yaz could feel Mae’s hot breath on her cheek as she spoke, and as she looked up into Mae’s hazel eyes she realized her mind was completely blank, utterly empty of excuses, but she had to do _something._

So she kissed her.

They were so close together that it was simply a matter of leaning forward and closing a gap, but the moment their lips pressed together the realization struck Yaz like a lightning bolt; _this_ was what she’d wanted all along. Not friends, or acquaintances, or any of that nonsense. It was _this,_ it always had been, and for a fraction of a second she wondered if Mae was thinking the same thing, but then she grabbed the front of her dress and yanked her closer, and Yaz knew that she had wanted this all along as well.

And then she didn’t think of anything much, except for the taste of Mae’s lips and her tongue and her hands in her hair and their bodies pressed together—

And then Ryan burst through the door and ruined everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two things:  
> 1) the doctor has a temper, so i figured that mae would have one too. not overtly, but i mean if she's really pushed (just like the doctor, i figured she would snap.  
> 2) dr brooks is based on several professional figures i have known in real life, who were like, good people in one sense, but at the same time were so deeply sexist and ignorant that i couldn't understand how they good have some really good qualities and at the same time be....like that. i tried to portray that here. hope it worked.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall are seriously the kindest people in the world. seriously. thank you all for the comments, i really don't express enough here how much they mean to me. i appreciate every single one, and especially on the last chapter...yall are the best.

It took Ryan the entire morning to dredge up the courage to follow Stewart once more. After Yaz had startled him the night before, he hadn’t thought he could do it again. It was too obvious, too risky, and Stewart was far too foreboding. Not to mention, he had at least ten centimeters on Ryan. What was he supposed to do if the corporal caught him? Make up some pathetic story about needing his help?

But it had been nearly three weeks since they had arrived at the hospital, and he didn’t think he could stand another day of mopping, never mind another day of passing the Doctor in the hallways, knowing that she had no memory or knowledge of Ryan Sinclair, nor did she care. And anyway, the whole reason he and Yaz and Graham had been sent to this godforsaken place was to help her out, which obviously meant two things: turn her back into the Doctor, and figure out whatever the aliens chasing her were up to.

And just as Yaz was in the best position to spy on Mae Smith, Ryan was in the best position to gather info on Stewart and Lewitt. Not that he saw Lewitt much, these days, since the man had abruptly been moved out of the hospital shortly after Stewart’s personality transplant. The timing was undeniably suspicious, but Ryan hadn’t been able to swallow his sigh of relief when he’d heard.

So the entire night after their meeting, once Yaz grudgingly promised to get them the pocket watch (and whatever was up with Yaz, Ryan decided, was a problem for another day), Ryan returned to the enlisted quarters, and promptly failed to fall asleep. Instead he tossed and turned, and weighed the pros and cons of following Stewart the next day. It was a lengthy debate, with vigorous arguments and excellent points tossed about on both sides. The opposing side argued that, bloody hell, it was his life at stake, and that was something the Doctor never would have asked him to give up, not willingly. 

The defending side pointed out that, while his life was all well and good, the Doctor’s life was at stake too, and hadn’t she already saved his countless times? And besides, wouldn’t Ryan do anything to help her, including traveling all the way to the southernmost tip of Africa to get entangled in a war he hadn’t even liked studying in school?

It was a tiring debate. By the time Ryan passed out, close to three in the morning, his mind was still going round in circles, unable to come to a conclusion.

Because he couldn’t decide, he chose not to mention anything to Yaz or Graham, not the night before, nor in the morning, when he passed Graham on the way to the dining hall. He was still seesawing between the two, and he still wasn’t sure, even if he told Graham, that he’d be able to muster the courage to do it. So he swallowed any mention, and simply gave Graham a ‘good morning, sir’, which was the only idle conversation permitted to pass between officers and enlisted in the hallway.

As usual, Stewart arrived late to breakfast, and ate quickly, shoving food into his mouth. Then he stood up, and did the thing he always did—he began to move among the staff in a manner that resembled friendliness, clapping orderlies on the shoulder and touching nurses on the arm, even shaking a new arrival’s hand as he asked them about their day. From the looks on the faces of the staff, it didn’t appear entirely welcome. Even with his overenthusiastic gestures of friendliness, his eyes never lost that hungry, penetrating look, and every time he touched an orderly or a nurse, they shifted uncomfortably.

As usual before leaving, Stewart sauntered over to Ryan and put a hand on his shoulder to say that he wouldn’t be around, but that he should clean the hospital rooms. It was an almost fatherly gesture, but it made Ryan shudder with fear, every time. Stewart never acted in such a way on the few times he appeared during Ryan’s work. It was as if he thought the line between work and sociability was as hard-cut as their schedules.

Ryan gulped and nodded, and threw his own food and coffee down as quickly as possible in order to escape the Stewart’s lingering gaze and uncomfortable hand on his shoulder.

But as he began his duties, starting with a removal of all the trash collected through out the rooms, it occurred to Ryan that Stewart hadn’t acted suspicious at all, beyond his usual oddness. He didn’t level Ryan with a knowing gaze, or glare at him, or hand out any fishy orders, such as ‘I want to talk with you alone’. All in all, he didn’t appear to suspect a single thing. Which, unfortunately, gave another point to the defending side of Ryan’s plan.

Still, he managed to put it off by agonizing over the entire morning, and then again at lunch, and even for a little while after, until, to his dismay, Stewart made an unwelcome appearance as he filled up the bucket for mopping.

“I need you to mop the floors.” Stewart’s voice came from behind him and Ryan flinched, sloshing water down his front. He recovered quickly, and turned around, leaving the bucket in the sink to fill slowly.

“Uh, that’s what I’m doing, corporal.” He gestured to the bucket in a way that he hoped didn’t come off as sarcastic. Stewart’s eyes darted from him to the bucket, and then to the water down his front.

“Yes, of course. And how long will that take?” his eyes bored into Ryan. 

“Uh, I think—well, the entire afternoon. Corporal.” he added hastily. “Because I have to do all the rooms on this floor.”

Stewart surveyed him, clearly satisfied at his answer. “Good. I will be busy until dinner. When you are done, you may eat.”

“Oh—thank you, corporal.” He wasn’t sure if Stewart knew that he ate anyway, whether he commanded him to or not. “I’ll be sure to do that.”

Stewart didn’t respond, but only looked at him for a second longer, unblinking, before he turned abruptly and stalked off, leaving Ryan to watch him go.

It was now or never. Ryan watched him approach the door, and suddenly noticed that his heart was in his throat. Probably because he knew he wouldn’t get a better chance than this, and to push it off meant that he would never do it. He just wouldn’t. It was so much easier to think about it than do it, and now that the chance was staring him in the face, he almost couldn’t make himself move.

Now or never. Ryan reached behind him slowly, eyes still on the door as Stewart pushed it open, and shut the water off. As soon as Stewart passed through, letting the door swing shut behind him, Ryan thrust the mop against the wall, left the bucket in the sink, and went after him.

He hung back further this time, since he remembered where they were going—or at least for the first part; up to the stairwell, and then beyond that was a mystery. As he inched silently along, at least a hallway behind Stewart at all times, he ran over his excuse in his head.

_I’m sorry corporal, it’s just I remembered that I forgot to ask what you wanted me to do after dinner, and I wasn’t sure you would be at dinner, so I thought I would just catch you now rather than later—_

It sounded lame, even to himself, but it was all he had, and he repeated it over and over again until he could spout it off in a second. He probably would, if Stewart turned around and caught sight of him. 

But Stewart never did, or at least, he never appeared to. He reached the stairs and started down them without a single glance around, and Ryan waited only a few moments before following. It was easier on the stairs, since he didn’t actually need to stay within sight of the him; he could hear the stomping of his feet from two flights above.

He kept his own footsteps as light as possible, ears strained to catch any possible change or sudden halt. But neither of those things came, and the farther they went down, the more confused Ryan became. What was down here, except the oft-used basement, and the nursing sisters…?

_Oh._ The blood drained from Ryan’s face. What if Stewart had figured something out? Or rather, what if he was going to investigate the girls’ quarters, using the cover of his shift to avoid running into Mae or Yaz? 

Ryan could hear his heart thudding in his ears, and his stomach twisted in fear—but this time, the fear wasn’t for him. He began to move quicker, worried that he would miss Stewart’s footsteps as they turned onto the girl’s floor.

What had Yaz mentioned once? They were on one of the lowest floors—just a couple above the basement. Which meant that Stewart would stop, probably, when he reached the floor, and then Ryan would peek quickly over the stairwell to see which floor he was on. And then he would know.

His mind was spinning so fast with all the horrific things Stewart might have been planting in the girls’ quarters, that he almost missed the sound of his footsteps stopping. As it was, he instead noticed a sudden silence, and stopped short at once. Then, quickly before he could lose his nerve, he drew in a breath and peeked over the side. 

To his utter relief, Stewart wasn’t on the girls’ floor—and even better, he wasn’t looking up. He was on the bottom floor, and as Ryan watched, he paused, then pivoted to the left and went off down the hall.

Instantly, Ryan’s heart eased up. Stewart hadn’t been messing around in the girls’ quarters after all. He was heading to the basement, had probably been going to the basement all this time, though for what Ryan couldn’t imagine. 

But that was it. He could turn back now. He knew where Stewart was going, knew that he was hiding in the basement doing who-knows-what, and next time, he could come back with the others. His moment of bravery was over; he’d done what he’d set out to do.

…Only, he still didn’t know what Stewart was really up to, did he? And how on earth was he going to get both Yaz and Graham out of their work at the same time that Stewart was down in the basement, in order to investigate? Ryan considered the idea briefly, and then rejected it. It would be nigh-impossible, not to mention dangerous.

And he was so close.

Ryan hesitated, one more second. Then, with light footsteps, he continued on down the stairs.

The basement was a little farther away than he’d expected. There were more stairs, at the end of the left side of the lowest hallway, but they led down into a smaller hallway, the floor of which was lined with dirt, which slanted down towards a simple wooden door. They were well under the building now, and Ryan could feel it in the dampness of the walls, and the frigid cold that seeped into his hands when he felt his way along the walls. There were no candles.

He moved quietly down the first hall, along with the stairs, but stopped when he reached the last hall to the doorway, and gave a cautious glance around. There was nobody in sight. So, quietly, his heart beating through his chest, he crept down the hallway until he reached the door. He could tell from first glance that it was very old, and not very good. The wood was cracked, and there was a gap between the bottom and the floor. The knob had a keyhole, which, when he peered through, breath held in apprehension, turned out not to have a key.

The obvious oversight meant that Ryan could use the keyhole through which to spy. So he did—despite the fear curdling at the bottom of his stomach, telling him that he was too close, far too close, and he had to get away as fast as he could. 

_Only a second of looking. Just a couple seconds, and then I’m sprinting out of here. I can do that. I **can.**_

The first thing that caught his eye was the green light glowing dimly off of the object in the middle of the room—and as soon as he focused on it, a gasp slipped from his mouth. The object in the middle, glowing with green lights and enormous enough to take up most of the room, though it was clearly only half-built, was, nevertheless, unmistakably _alien._

Despite his earlier promise to himself, Ryan stared a few seconds longer, rooted into place with shock. It was all confirmed, all of their theories; Stewart was an alien, and probably Lewitt as well, and now they were building some kind of alien _thing_ in the basement of the hospital, and for who knew what purpose?

It was long past a few seconds now, but Ryan squinted and moved a tad bit closer, trying to make out more details. Now that his eyes had adjusted, he could see that there were more metal parts around the object, which itself reached almost to the ceiling. Other than the softly blinking lights, there was no movement in the room. There was nobody in sight.

And then Ryan realized his mistake.

Instantly, he jerked away from the door and fell backwards, just as it banged open. Stewart bore down on him, his face distorted into a snarl so twisted it clearly wasn’t meant for a human face, and his arms were out, lunging for Ryan.

Ryan scrambled backwards, and made it to his feet, just as Stewart reached him. He tried to duck, but it was too late; Stewart’s hands closed around his throat, and Ryan choked as the corporal drove him against the wall, knocking the wind out of him.

“You followed me,” he growled, his expression now only a caricature of a human face. “You think we wouldn’t notice? That I couldn’t smell you?”

“I—I—” Ryan spluttered, unable to breathe, nevertheless speak. Stewart looked him up and down for a moment, and then released his throat only to drive his hand into his chest, effectively pinning him to the wall. 

“You know who we are,” Stewart told him, furious eyes locked on Ryan’s, who wanted more than anything to look away, if only he could move. 

“I don’t, I swear, I just—”

“Do not lie, Sinclair.” Stewart’s face contorted with ugly triumph. “I have seen you watching us. I have seen your suspicion. You are the Doctor’s friend, and you came here to protect her.”

“That’s—not—true,” Ryan gasped, even as his heart sunk. They knew. They knew everything. How could they possibly—?

“Your face betrays you,” Stewart said. His lips spread into a contemptuous grin. “You do not know how to lie. Which means you know who the Doctor is. You know where the watch containing her consciousness is hidden.”

_The watch_ —quickly, Ryan schooled his surprise into wide-eyed terror. It wasn't that hard. “I don’t know about any watch. I’m just an—an orderly, that’s all—”

“Ha!” Stewart barked a horrible laugh, and then grabbed a fistful of Ryan’s shirt and yanked him forward. “You keep lying, as if you don’t know the value of the knowledge you carry.”

Ryan stumbled, his head and torso forced down as Stewart dragged him with one hand towards the open door. “Let me show you what we do to useless humans who wander down here.”

They didn’t have to go far. As soon as they crossed the threshold, Stewart pivoted to the right, and shoved him straight into a pile of large, squishy things, almost like—

Bodies.

Ryan yelped and scrambled backwards, trying to put as much space between him and the pile as he could. In the dim light only the barest details could be made out, but he caught a glimpse of an arm wearing a wristwatch, a uniformed pant leg, and a gray face under a shock of limp hair, staring blankly out at him. He looked to be one of three, or maybe four—it was hard to count out from the number of tangled limbs and clothes.

“Now you understand.” Stewart’s satisfied voice came from behind him. Ryan felt rather than heard him come up, and made an effort to clamber to his feet before he could commence that awful dragging again. 

But Stewart didn’t touch him. Ryan turned around, fists up (though he wasn’t sure what he would do with them), and saw the Stewart watching him with greedy, calculating eyes from a good meter away.

Ryan kept his hands up. “Whatever you do to me, I won’t come easily.” He hoped the words came out stronger than he felt. Stewart was standing between him and the door, and from the easy way he’d thrown him around before, Ryan figured he’d last about a second. Maybe two.

“Oh, I’m not going to do anything to you,” Stewart said, and grinned again, that mirthless facsimile of a smile. “Because you’re going to do something for us.”

Taken aback, Ryan’s hands lowered. Slightly. “Do what?”

Stewart’s smile grew wider. “You’re going to get us the watch.”

“I told you, I don’t know where the watch _is,_ ” Ryan said. His lips were dry with fear, and he suddenly became aware of a bead of sweat making its way slowly down the back of his neck. _Why,_ a part of him wondered, was he still _lying?_ “And even if I did, why would I get it for you?”

“Because if you don’t, we’ll just go through this entire hospital one by one.” Still grinning, Stewart brought up a hand to splay four fingers. “Starting with you,”—one finger went down— “your friend, Major O'Brien,”—another finger went down— “your girlfriend Yasmin Khan,” —a third finger— “and then her friend, Mae Smith.”—the last finger went down. “And, if we don’t find the Doctor amongst you or your friends, we’ll just have to go through the rest of the people in this building, won’t we?”

It was too late to go for bravado. Ryan knew fear was plastered over his face, could feel it in the way his breath was coming in short, uneven gasps. “I—I—f-fine. I’ll get you the watch. B-but you can’t hurt any of my friends. Or, or anybody else in this hospital.”

As soon as he said these words, Ryan sent up a prayer that he had done the right thing. Stewart still half-looked as if he wanted to kill him, just for kicks. His eyes glinted victoriously, and then, abruptly, he stepped aside, leaving the path to the door clear. “Fine. Go and get the watch, and your little friends will be safe. We don’t care about them, anyway.”

Ryan stared, eyes darting between Stewart and the door. He had no idea if he was lying or not—his face was impossible to read, not because he looked like he was hiding something, but because his expression barely changed. There was triumph there, yes, and rage, but mostly his expressions were just ill-fitting, as if there were some other, horrible creature peeking out of Stewart’s eyes. Which, Ryan realized, there most definitely was, because whatever had just thrown him against the wall was not the human Stewart. Not anymore.

A beat passed, and then Ryan took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “Okay. Alright, I’m—I’m going.”

And when Stewart didn’t move, only looked at him and nodded in acquiescence, Ryan walked to the door, glancing at the corporal as he went. Once his feet carried him over the threshold, he glanced back, and found Stewart still unmoving. So he kept going, up the damp, dark hallway, feeling his way with one hand on the wall, and jumping at every noise, half-expecting Stewart to rise up from behind and drag him back into the basement at any moment.

But there was no sound except the quiet _scuff-scuff_ of his own footsteps and the pounding of his heart, loud and erratic in the gloomy quiet. He made his way up the stairs, to what was meant to be the lowest floor, and, as soon as his foot hit the top step, he began to run.

———

The moment Ryan disappeared from view, Stewart turned and shouted over his shoulder. “Son of mine!”

There was a second of silence, then there came the clatter of tools and a short hiss of a pneumatic clamp unhooking from inside the spacecraft. A moment later a figure emerged, dark-haired and still dressed in the hospital pajamas he had been wearing for the weeks prior to his false transfer to another ward.

“What is it, Mother of mine?” he grumbled, brushing dust and bits of debris off of his sleeves. “I was linked into the central console.”

Stewart didn’t reply immediately, but looked towards the door, still open, his expression contemplative. After a moment, he spoke.

“We have been discovered. By the orderly, Ryan Sinclair. He is a companion of the Doctor.”

“I knew it!” Lewitt growled immediately, and his eyes fell to the pile of bodies just to the left of the doorway, scanning for the new addition. “Did you dispose of him, Mother of mine?”

“No,” Stewart answered, and turned to his son, a small, cruel smile spread across his face. “I have decided to use him to bring the watch to us.”

“What?” Lewitt exclaimed. “You mean you set him loose? What if he tells the Do—”

“Oh, he certainly will.” Stewart chuckled, an odd, dissonant sound. “And he will not want to bring us the watch. That’s why I need you to make sure he does.”

Lewitt glowered for a moment, and then sighed. “Yes, Mother of mine. I will track him. But what if he is not swayed? I can’t just kill him. My form is far less powerful than yours, and he will most likely be with friends.”

“Yes.” Stewart swung around to look at their spaceship, his eyes glittering. “But while you are up there, Son of mine, I will be activating our army.”

———

At first Ryan ran out of fear, pure and simple, his heart thumping and his head screaming at him to put as much distant between his soft, vulnerable flesh and whatever Stewart had turned into as fast as possible. But there were a lot of stairs to climb, and though Ryan was fast, and pretty fit, one could only run so fast up so many stairs. So eventually, reluctantly, logic took over, and he began to think about what he was supposed to do.

They had been found out. _He_ had ratted them out—or had he? After all, Stewart had said he’d known everything already—so maybe Ryan hadn’t bungled it all up completely. Maybe Stewart—and Lewitt—had been well on the way to figuring things out before his interference.

Only now, thanks to Ryan, Stewart knew exactly who the Doctor’s companions were, if he didn’t know who the Doctor was herself. He had mentioned Mae Smith, but nothing about her. Did that mean he didn’t know she was the Doctor? Or was he just playing stupid, as he had when Ryan followed him the day before?

_And you actually thought he hadn’t noticed. Nice one, Ryan, you absolute bloody idiot._

But then he pushed that thought away, because it didn’t matter. He could kick himself over it later—and he would—but that didn’t change the fact that he had to find Mae, _now,_ and he had to get the pocket watch from her. Not to give it to Stewart, but to keep it safe, or to figure out how to activate it, or do whatever needed to be done to get the Doctor to wake up and fix the entire thing. Because by now, Ryan was in way over his head, and all he wanted to do was get back to the TARDIS, or Sheffield, or both—preferably with all his friends in tow.

By the time he reached the floor he had been on before, Ryan had the loosest outline of a plan, if it could be called that at all. It went roughly as such: find Yaz, because Mae would be with her, and take the pocket watch from her, force it open, and see what would happen. It was the only thing he could think of that had a chance of working, other than somehow herding himself, Graham, Yaz, and Mae out of the hospital, and all of the way back to the TARDIS to hide. And that could only be a temporary solution, really.

The only problem with his plan was that Ryan had no idea where Yaz and Mae could be. He usually passed them in the hallways once or twice a day, and usually on the floor he happened to be on now, but beyond that, he had no clue. So, with no other option, he simply began running down the hallway towards the hospital rooms, nearly bowling over a skimpily-mustached orderly who shot him a dirty look as he passed.

“Sorry!” he called over his shoulder, and rounded the corner, sprinting past a row of examination rooms, most of which he knew to be empty. They were actually refitted office rooms, and only used for the occasional special-case patient, of which there weren’t many of in a hospital consisting mostly of combat wounds and typhoid fever. 

But apparently, not all of them were empty. As he passed the last one, Ryan caught the tail-end of a shout, and slid to a halt, nearly tripping over his own feet. He righted himself and spun around, just as another angry round of words emanated from the room. He couldn’t catch what was being said, but Ryan would’ve recognized those two voices anywhere in the universe.

It was Yaz and the Doctor. Or rather, Yaz and Mae Smith. And apparently, they were fighting.

But to Ryan in that moment, that was the least interesting matter in the world. What mattered was that he had stumbled upon exactly the two people he needed to find, and exactly in the nick of time. He bounded towards the door, and without hesitation, twisted the knob and flung it open.

“Yaz! We've got to get the Doctor out of here, there’s—”

And then he fell silent, mouth hanging open in a silent ‘oh’ of surprise, as his eyes fell upon the scene before him.

Because Yaz and Mae weren’t fighting. They were kissing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ryan is the unfortunate hero of the story who is not actually the hero of this story because i just so happened to be writing a thasmin romance and not a 'ryan saves the day' story. but really, ryan is a star.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys are all the nicest people seriously
> 
> i'm trying to get to everybody's comments, but if you don't hear from me just know that you have all my love and appreciation
> 
> and other than that just enjoy the chapter, hope it lives up to the wait!

Yaz had never wished death upon anyone. But in that moment, she came very close to wishing it upon Ryan Sinclair.

When the door burst open there was a second of delay where they didn't entirely register the intrusion, still caught up in that wonderful moment. Yaz had half an instinct to wave a lazy hand towards the door to shoo the intruder away.

But then an instant later reality kicked in, and Yaz and Mae sprung apart so fast it was as if somebody had taken an axe and cleaved a space between them.

“Ryan!” Yaz gasped, stumbling back against the examination table, and shot him a look that would have killed instantly, if she hadn’t been blushing from her hairline all the way down to the collar of her dress. “Knock much?”

Ryan was still staring, but at Yaz’s words he snapped back to reality and gulped, as if recalling something awful. “Never mind that, we’ve got trouble!”

“P-Private Sinclair—” Mae began, but her voice was shaking, and when Yaz looked over she realized that she was bone-pale, terrified eyes fixed on Ryan. “Whatever you saw, it wasn’t—”

“Oh, as if I care!” Ryan swung to face Yaz, his eyes blazing with what she thought for a moment was anger, and then realized to be fear. He stuck out his hand. “Yaz, give me the watch.”

“Give you—what?” Yaz’s face twisted in confusion, and then she remembered what she was supposed to be doing that day. Right. “I haven’t—”

Ryan groaned, and spun around to face Mae. “Alright, Doc, I mean Mae, I’m sorry to do this to you, but I need your watch. The broken one. You do have it, yeah?”

Mae looked at him for a moment, uncomprehending, and then realization dawned and her eyes flickered to Yaz, betrayal clear in her expression. “You told him about that?”

“I—” Yaz didn’t know what to say. Her mind had short-circuited ever since the kiss, or maybe right before it, and all she could think was that she didn’t want any of this to be happening, wanted to go back to roughly a minute ago, when everything had been perfect. “It’s not—”

“Ooh, this is so not helping!” Ryan moaned in frustration. Without warning he strode forward, ignoring Mae’s surprised yelp, and began patting her down, rushing apologies as he went. “I’m sorry Doc I really hope you don’t remember this but I have to find the watch, you don’t understand—”

“G’off me!” Mae pushed him back with surprising strength, and stuck a finger in his chest. “Private Sinclair, this is incredibly inappropriate, I won’t have you—”

But Ryan wasn’t even listening. “How do you not have it? Yaz—” 

He turned around, and snapped his fingers at a stunned Yaz, his eyes scanning the room— “Yaz c’mon, I need your help here, we don’t have time to—oh!”

His eyes fell upon the apron tossed across the examination table—and more importantly, the pockets attached to it. He dove forward and snatched it up, rummaging around with a triumph that quickly turned to frustration as the pocket watch failed to make an appearance.

“I don’t understand, Yaz, you said—”

“Looking for this?” Mae’s voice sounded quietly behind him. Ryan turned around, just as she stooped down to scoop up the watch from the corner, where it had apparently rolled after falling out of the apron’s pocket. She straightened and held it up, so that the circular writing was visible to the other two in the room.

Ryan stared. So did Yaz. And then he triumphantly shouted “Yes!” and crossed the room, hand held out as if he expected her to deposit it into his grasp without a second thought. 

But Mae just clutched the watch to her chest and took a step back, pressing herself against the wall. Her eyes, shining with confused hurt, swung from Ryan to Yaz, before settling on Ryan, and she thrust out a warning hand. 

“Don’t—!” even as a human, the warning tone, so close to that of the Doctor’s, was enough to make Ryan stop. “Don’t come any closer.”

Ryan hesitated, and then glanced back at Yaz, his expression clearly saying ‘help me’.

Yaz didn’t want to. She felt frozen over and hot all at once, unable to move and yet trembling. All of her guilt—the guilt she’d shut off and ignored every time she talked to Mae, pretended they were friends, lied—was all crashing down on her, every moment simultaneously, and she wasn’t sure she could stand to look her in the face.

But she had to, if not to help Ryan, then at the very least because Mae deserved an explanation. So she stepped forward and held out a hand in what she hoped was a reassuring manner, and said, “Listen, Mae, I’m sorry, but I’ll explain everything. Ryan’s not trying to hurt you—”

“Oh, and what are you trying to do?” Mae’s voice was practically shaking with anger, the kind, Yaz knew, that welled up into tears—and sure enough, she brought up a quick hand to wipe at her eyes. When she brought it down, her gaze zeroed in on Yaz, and it was all anger. “You’ve been lying to me this whole time, pretending we were friends, pretending we were—just to pull something on me with him!”

She gestured towards Ryan. “So what is it, huh? What’s the deal with you two, all acting like you know me, like you know something _about_ me?”

Yaz’s throat was dry. She swallowed, felt a lump building. “You wouldn’t believe us if we told you.”

“Try me.”

“Okay, um—” Yaz swallowed again, trying to get past the lump in her throat. It was a futile endeavor. “Well, see, you’re—um, you’re—Ryan?”

She looked at him pleadingly, and he shook his head in disbelief. “You can’t—oh, fine.”

He turned to Mae and clasped his hands flatly together, gesturing towards her. _“You_ —are not you. You’re not Mae Smith. You’re actually a time-traveling alien named the Doctor, and you have a ship which is tucked a few kilometers from here, and we’re your friends. We came to help you, because there are other aliens that apparently want you for god-knows-what, and we think you’ve decided to disguise yourself as a human to hide from them. Only we don’t _know,_ because you didn’t actually tell us your plan. Thanks for that, by the way.”

Mae was staring at him incredulously. Ryan gauged her expression, and then shrugged and continued. “And your watch actually contains all your memories and everything that makes you _you,_ which I only learned because I’ve just been threatened by the aliens hunting you, which, by the way, are hiding in the basement.”

Now Yaz was staring at him too. “Ryan, are you okay—?”

“Honestly?” Ryan answered without looking back. His eyes were still locked on Mae. “Not really. But I’ll tell you about that later, because right now, Mae—” he took a step forward, his expression encouraging and only slightly desperate— “You have to open the watch. It’ll give you back your _real_ consciousness. It’ll turn you back into who you're supposed to be.”

A beat passed after he finished talking, and then Mae’s eyes narrowed. Her hand clenched tighter around the watch.

“You’re right. I don’t believe you.”

“Ugh!” Ryan threw back his head in frustration, and ran a hand over his head. “C’mon!”

“Yeah, I don’t believe either of you,” Mae repeated, and her eyes darted to Yaz as she said the words, whose heart compressed. “You two are a bunch of nutters, both of you, and don’t think I won’t go straight to Dr. Brooks to report this! I might be transferring, but I have enough sway and evidence to get you both kicked out for _good.”_

“Yeah, alright,” Ryan muttered, and looked towards Yaz, who just hit him with a slightly panicked shrug. She was still on the whole alien thing—there were aliens down in the basement, this instant? And if Ryan had found them, why wasn’t he dead by now? Why would they threaten him and just let him go?

“Ryan,” Yaz said. “Why did the aliens let you go? How did you escape?”

“Huh?” he turned around distractedly. “I didn’t, they caught me and threatened to kill me, but they said they wouldn’t hurt any of you if I gave them the watch. Which obviously I’m not going to do, but the only way I can prevent that is if Mae—”

He was already turning back to Mae, who was watching them dubiously, but Yaz’s head was still spinning. “I don’t understand.”

Ryan twisted back towards her, face full of impatience. “What don’t you understand?”

“Why—” her throat clogged up with trepidation— “Why would they let you escape, just like that? How are they supposed to know you won’t do exactly what you’re doing right now?”

Ryan stared at her, realization dawning, and then he looked past her, eyes growing wide. “Yaz—”

A new voice sounded behind them. “Wonderful observation, Miss Khan.”

All three of them whirled to face the door, and Mae let out an audible gasp. “Mr. Lewitt? What are you doing—”

“None of the boring questions, please.” Lewitt waved his hand dismissively towards her, and stepped over the threshold. He held out his hand to Ryan, who pressed away from him. “Now, the watch please? I’m assuming you have it, by now.”

“I—I do, yeah,” Ryan said, but his gaze flitted towards Mae, betraying him. Lewitt noticed immediately, and raised an eyebrow. 

“So we’re going to lie today? Alright.” He sighed, rather dramatically, and began to turn towards Mae, who shrank back as his unmistakably alien gaze bore down on her.

But as soon as his eyes left him, Ryan caught Yaz’s eye, and mouthed ‘get her’. Then he nodded towards Mae. Yaz understood immediately, and had time to give him a a tiny nod in return, before Lewitt turned entirely to face Mae. In that same flat, bored tone, he began to speak.

“Now, Miss Smith, I won’t harm you if you just—”

Without warning Ryan bolted forward and tackled Lewitt, sending him crashing to the ground in a flurry of limbs. Yaz leaped forward and crossed the room to the corner where Mae stood.

“Come with me!” she said urgently, but Mae didn’t move, her eyes fixed on Ryan and Lewitt wrestling on the floor, so Yaz grabbed her hand and yanked her towards the door, and out into the hallway.

“Get Graham!” she heard Ryan’s muffled cry behind her, so Yaz turned and sprinted in the direction of the admin officer’s office, her hand still gripping Mae’s tightly, who seemed to have recovered from her shock.

“Something’s wrong with—” she gasped, but Yaz just pulled her along faster. “I know!”

They were halfway down the hall when she heard the sounds of somebody bursting out of the room, and terror gripped her heart, but when she glanced behind her it was Ryan sprinting after them. Lewitt was nowhere in sight.

“Let’s go!” he called as he caught up to them, and as he closed in Yaz caught the wild fear in his eyes. “I only knocked him down, he’ll be up in a minute—let’s go!”

They tore down the hallways, barreling over ones and twos of people coming down the hall, who shouted and cursed them as they passed. With the footsteps and quiet murmurs of people moving in the hall, it was hard to tell if Lewitt really was following them, but none of them dared look back. Instead they just ran, no sound except for their harsh, ragged, breathing.

Mae was the first to notice the strange occurrence. Her hand was still gripping Yaz’s, and she was keeping up easily and without complaint, driven on by terror, but as they passed a pair of orderlies she suddenly slowed up, her grip tugging Yaz back.

“Something’s wrong with them!” she cried, and when Yaz looked back, Mae pointed behind them, at the orderlies they had just passed. They were bent over at the waist, arms hanging loosely in front of them like rag dolls, unmoving. Ryan turned around as well, and his eyes widened.

“Whatever it is, I don’t want to be here when they start moving,” he said, and clapped Yaz on the shoulder. “C’mon!”

They took off running again, and this time Yaz noticed that the people they passed were beginning to droop, bending over like the first ones they had seen—and then staying in that position, immobilized, as if waiting for orders. 

It was unnerving.

They were almost at Graham’s office when they passed another ragdoll person, this one alone. As they approached he abruptly straightened, sending them all reeling backwards. His eyes, they saw, were milky white, and the second he stood up he swung around to face them, sniffing. 

“Alright, let’s not stick around!” Yaz grabbed Ryan’s hand and used it to push him forward, before pulling on Mae as well. “Look, we’re almost there!”

They were in the last hallway before Graham’s office, but as they rounded the corner they came upon two nurses and an orderly, all bent at the waist, arms hanging. They stumbled to a halt, and then the middle nurse straightened, her milky white eyes staring directly at them.

“Sara,” Mae whispered in horror, and a pit opened up in Yaz’s chest. It was Sara, her brown, curly locks unmistakable, but her face was completely blank, void of her usual cheer—or any other emotion.

“She’s not her,” Yaz said, and then repeated it louder. “She’s not her. C’mon, we’ve got to get around them!”

The other two hadn’t woken up yet, but Sara was reaching out straight towards them, her arms grasping at nothing. She sniffed the air, and took a step forward just as they split off, Yaz and Mae pressing up against the left wall, Ryan against the right, and carefully they crept around the trio blocking the hallway. 

By the time they were around them the other two had begun to awaken, and Sara was following their movements, twisting around, though she seemed confused as to which side to focus on. 

“We’re almost there,” Ryan whispered across the hall, and pointed towards the last door in the hallway. “We’ll get inside, and lock ourselves in.”

But at his lowered tones, all three of the people straightened up completely and twisted towards his voice. The orderly closest to him reached out, and took a menacing step forward. His mouth opened in a noiseless moan.

“Run!” Ryan shouted, and broke loose, dashing toward Graham’s door. Yaz and Mae weren’t far behind, and they arrived just as Ryan turned the knob and pulled it open, their combined momentum sending them crashing into the room.

Mae was the first up, and the closest towards the door. She leapt to her feet and slammed the door shut, before jamming the dead bolt above her head shut. Less then a second later a body thumped against the door, and then another, and then a violent pounding started up as the possessed people began throwing themselves at the door, over and over again.

Mae reeled away from the door as Ryan and Yaz scrambled back into the center of the office, mostly bare apart from a small bookshelf, a patterned rug, and a chair sitting in front of the desk squashed up against the back window. The desk was currently occupied by Graham, who sat blinking in utter surprise at the three unexpected visitors who had barricaded themselves inside his office.

The chair in front of the desk was occupied by none other than Dr. Brooks, who turned at the noise of the door and then leapt to his feet with an uncharacteristic curse. “What is the meaning of—?”

And then he caught sight of Mae, and his eyes narrowed. “Sister Smith, if you’ve come back to revive our earlier conversation, I’ll have you—”

“Oh, you—” Mae stepped angrily forward, but Yaz beat her to it.

“Shut _up!”_ She clambered to her feet from where she’d tumbled onto the rug and strode towards Dr. Brooks, eyes blazing. She reached him in moments and jabbed a finger into his chest, snarling, “I’ve heard enough about you today, you bloody jackass, and now that I don’t have to pretend anymore there’s nothing stopping me from—”

“Uh, Yaz?” Graham peeked out from behind Dr. Brooks’ figure. “Care to explain the thumping on the door?” 

“Uh—” Yaz paused in her tirade, just as Ryan made it to his feet as well, and turned on Mae.

“Where is it?” he demanded. His eyes roamed anxiously over her, searching. “You didn’t drop it, did you?”

Mae tilted her hand to reveal gleaming silver wrapped in her fingers, but kept it close to her side. “I’m not an idiot, thank you very much, Private Sinclair.”

She spoke coolly, but Ryan just sagged in relief. “Oh thank god.”

“Is anybody gonna explain what the hell is going on?” Graham broke in, and leaned to the side to get a good look at Ryan and Mae. “Are we under attack?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Dr. Brooks spat, though he was still bending slightly, trapped under Yaz’s furious gaze. “We’re nearly ten kilometers behind the line. There’s no attacking Kroonstad, they don’t even have the proper artillery.”

Yaz wrinkled her nose. “You really are thick, aren’t you?” 

Dr. Brooks had the nerve to look affronted, but before he could open his mouth to form a retort, Mae yelped out, “Yaz!” Yaz whirled around, just in time to see Ryan double over, his arms dangling out in front of him like a puppet’s—or rather, like those they had seen in the hall.

Graham leapt to his feet. “What's happened to him?”

“He's just like the things in the hall,” Mae breathed in horror. “Like the rest of the staff!”

“He must have been infected somehow.” Yaz's eyes were fixed on Ryan’s immobilized form, fear curdling in her stomach. 

“Does that mean we'll be infected too?”

“I don't—”

“Never mind that, we've got to help him!” Graham shoved his chair away and pushed out from behind his desk, knocking a frozen Dr. Brooks to the side as he passed. He reached Ryan and knelt beside him, placing a hand on his back.

“Ryan, can you hear me?”

Yaz's heart leapt into her throat. “Graham, don’t—”

But she barely had time to get the words out before Ryan swung upright, knocking Graham's hand off his back, and immediately twisted towards the sounds of Yaz's voice. She fell silently immediately, breath caught, as his foggy white eyes found hers. There was no sign of Ryan peeking out from his blank expression. 

Graham had fallen backwards at Ryan's sudden movement, hitting the rug rear end first. He looked up just in time to see Ryan reach out towards Yaz, his mouth gaping in a silent scream, as he took a step forward. “Oi!”

Ryan paused and turned his foggy eyes to Graham. He surveyed him for a moment, and Graham took the time to clamber to his feet. “Oi, Ryan, if you’re going to attack anybody it might as well be your step-Grandad, yeah?”

Ryan seemed to consider this for several long moments, as the entire room waited, with scarcely a noise except for the semi-regular thumping of the other puppets against the door. Compared to the danger playing out in the room, the sound seemed far off and faint, faded into the background.

But Ryan ignored them completely, his eyes still on Graham. The silence seemed to stretch on forever, but in reality it was only about two seconds, before he swung to face Graham, moving forward with the implacability of a ragdoll come to life.

“Knew that would get ya,” Graham muttered, backing up against the door. He flinched as a body thudded against the wood behind him, but before he could move right or left, Ryan closed the gap, pressing him up against the door. His hands reached out, snagging on the front of Graham’s shirt, who looked over his shoulder, to find Yaz. As soon as he caught her gaze he mouthed ‘help me,’ and cast a meaningful look towards Ryan—or rather, behind him.

And Yaz instantly understood what to do. 

Courage was another matter. But these were some of the scenarios she’d trained for in the police, and now, as she put her rusty observations skills to use, sweeping over the scene, she could tell that it was perfect, down to a tee. Exactly like the scenarios they’d run through back in training. Except in training, their moves always worked.

But it was too late not to act, because Ryan was dragging Graham closer with one hand while his other reached around his neck. So Yaz swallowed her fear and, before she could think about it too much, sprinted across the room, hands out to do the only thing she could think of.

As soon as she reached Ryan her hands came up—damn it, why did he have to be so tall?—and wrapped around his face, over his eyes. There must have been some human instinct left in him, because his hands released Graham and came up to his face, scratching at Yaz’s fingers—but then she yanked back, _hard,_ and despite her smaller stature he came with her, hands still pawing at his face.

They stumbled back together and Yaz, with the element of surprise on her side, forced him to the ground, though he struggled and bucked with surprising strength. Panickedly, she thought back to her training, trying to recall the next step, and then flung herself forward to plant an elbow on his throat.

He was still struggling, still clawing at her, and now her smaller size was proving a disadvantage. “A little help here!”

Graham reacted first, diving forward to catch Ryan’s kicking feet. Hands proved unwieldy and ineffective, so he settled for sitting across his legs, which did the trick; Ryan still struggled, but couldn’t come close to escaping.

“What do we do now?”

“I don’t know, tie him up?” Yaz glanced around the room. “What d’you got in here?”

“Does it look like I have rope in a paperwork office?”

“Well, we’ve got to do something!”

“Use his belt.” The reply came from the corner of the room, and both Yaz and Graham looked up in confusion.

“Huh?”

“His belt,” Mae said, louder. When neither of them immediately responded, she pushed off the wall and strode over to where Ryan lay on the floor. She knelt down beside him and, with practiced, nimble fingers, undid his belt and dragged it out through the loops. This she handed to Graham, who wasted no time in winding it around Ryan’s legs, cinching it shut.

“We need another for his arms.” Graham quickly unclipped his own belt and handed it over to Mae, who tore Ryan’s arms down from where he was still trying to grab Yaz’s arm away from his throat. “Come on, we need to flip him.”

Yaz glanced up at her, surprised by the purely methodical precision in which Mae was handling Ryan’s zombified body. Then again, she was a nurse in a war zone. Perhaps she had done similar things before. 

“You’ve got his arms?”

Mae didn’t respond, just indicated with her chin. Yaz nodded. “Right. Okay. Graham, you ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Okay, on three. I release, and together we roll him, to my side. One…two…three!”

She sprung back, taking her elbow off his throat, and, before he could begin throwing himself about, Mae and Graham got their hands under his back and heaved, tipping him onto his front. Mae, without warning tossed Yaz the belt, but she caught it gracefully, and, the moment Mae pulled his hands together, applied it to his wrists, pulling it tight enough that she herself winced as it clicked into place.

“Poor Ryan,” she murmured, setting back on her heels.

“I’ll say.” Mae glanced up towards Dr. Brooks, and shot him a nasty look. “Fat lot of good you were, by the way.”

Dr. Brooks was still staring down at Ryan’s body, squirming against the makeshift ties. His mouth was hanging open in a far cry from his usual composed features, but once Mae spoke he snapped back to reality and straightened up, before raising his gaze to meet the others.

“What in the bloody hell happened to him?” he demanded. “And what has happened to the rest of my staff?”

Graham shrugged. “Hell if I know. Ask the ladies.”

He jabbed a thumb to where Yaz and Mae were kneeling on the rug, but his eyes fell down to Ryan’s prone form, glittering with worry. He frowned, an apprehensive crease deepening on his brow. 

“We’ve got to figure out what’s wrong with him,” he said softly, to no-one in particular.

Dr. Brooks looked at him for a moment, mouth working, and then turned to Yaz and Mae. “Sister Smith, tell me what’s going on here. That boy is clearly sick, and he needs—”

“He’s not sick, he’s controlled,” Yaz cut in. “We need to figure out how he got this way, so we can fix it.”

“And soon,” Graham added. “Before that lot breaks through the doors.”

As if to emphasize his point, another body pounded against the wood, and they all jumped. Dr. Brooks paled.

“Do you mean to tell me that there are more out there like him?”

“Yeah, the entire staff was turning into them as we ran!” Yaz pushed herself to her feet and turned to Graham. “Listen, I don’t know how Ryan figured it out, but he did. He figured out everything. Lewitt and Stewart are the aliens, they’ve been hiding out in the basement, and Lewitt—”

She stopped, and frowned. “Hang on. Where did Lewitt go?”

“I never saw him when I looked back,” Mae volunteered. 

“But Ryan said he only knocked him down—”

Without warning, something knocked against the door. They jumped, as the sound echoed again, and then again, different from the dull thudding of the bodies, which, Yaz suddenly realized, had ceased. She hadn’t even noticed its absence.

The knocking grew fiercer and fiercer, until it could no longer be called knocking but rather pounding, as if somebody were desperately—

“Let us in!” A muffled cry came from outside, and the little group edged instinctively back.

“Open the door!” Another cry came. Yaz peered closer. “You don’t think—”

“We can hear you talking!” 

“Please!”

Graham shook his head. “No way. You ask me, that’s a trap, plain and simple.”

But Mae was pale. “I—I recognize one of those voices. It’s Joan, she works the night shift. She was subbing today for someone.”

Yaz looked between her and the door, torn. “But she’s on staff too, how can she not be one of them?”

“We didn’t turn either, did we?”

“Not yet, we didn’t,” Graham pointed out. Yaz glared at him. 

“Thanks for that bit of cheer.”

“Please, open the door!” the desperate cry came again. The pounding continued, incessant. “They’re coming closer—”

She was cut off by the crack of a gun. Yaz startled, as did the other three, and then another gunshot rang out, followed by a shout, clearly male. Silence fell, but only for a second, and then the pounding started back up again. “Open the door!”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake—” Yaz found herself pushed roughly to the side as Dr. Brooks brushed past her, his hand already on his holster. “I will not leave my staff to die in the hallway just because you can’t make a decision!”

“Wait—!” Graham and Yaz called at the same time, but it was too late; in one fluid movement Dr. Brooks withdrew his pistol, as his other hand came up to slide back the deadbolt. The bolt clinked open, and then, before anybody could leap forward to stop him, he reach out and twisted the knob, flinging the door open.

In an instant, chaos descended upon the doorway. The nurse, whose face Yaz didn’t recognize, fell through the doorway, as Mae rushed forward to catch her. Two men were right behind her, their backs to the room and pistols in their hands, as they faced off with the puppet-people descending upon them. 

And there were more now, no longer just the three which had flung themselves uselessly against Graham’s door. Yaz caught a glimpse of the hallway as the door swung upon, and her eyes widened in horror at the trail of zombified staff members making their way down the hall—towards _their_ door. 

“Get inside!” Dr. Brooks called to the men, and they both glanced back, before simultaneously turning and diving into the room, just as one of the puppet-people reached the doorway. Dr. Brooks caught the door with his foot, pistol still aimed, and tried to slam it shut, but the awkward angle meant he had no power behind it. The puppet-person—a red haired orderly, his mouth hanging open—caught the door edge in his arms and, despite Dr. Brooks’ foot pressing against the other side, began to force it open.

Yaz rushed forward to help, as did Mae, but their combined strength didn’t do much. The orderly was stiff-arming the door with one hand—how could that be possible?—as he reached around with the other, grasping towards the people inside the room. 

One of the men who had fallen inside of the room rolled over and jumped to his feet.

“Your pistol!” he called to Dr. Brooks. “Use your pistol!”

“No—don’t shoot them!” Yaz cried, struggling against the door. “They’re still people, they’re just—”

“No—jam it in his ribs!” Dr. Brooks tossed him a disbelieving look. He still had his pistol aimed at the orderly, who seemed to take no notice of it. “Trust me, it’s the only thing that makes them go back!”

Dr. Brooks eyed him for half a second longer, and then abruptly moved forward, driving his pistol into the orderly’s ribs. For a second, nothing changed. 

Then the orderly paused, and looked down at the muzzle sticking into his flesh.

Slowly, he retracted his arms from the door. Then he took a step back. Dr. Brooks took a step with him, not letting up on the pressure of the gun, until he had pushed him fully outside of the room. Other puppets were closing in, some just meters away from the door, and Dr. Brooks took one quick look around, a bead of sweat dropping down his brow, before he withdrew his pistol and jumped backwards, stumbling into the office. Yaz reached out and grabbed the back of his shirt, yanking him fully inside, as Mae slammed the door shut and secured the deadbolt, locking them in once more.

As soon as the deadbolt slammed into place, they all sighed with relief. Mae turned around, back against the door, and then flinched as the thudding resumed.

“They’re still trying to get in,” she said. “How long do you think it’ll take before—”

And then abruptly, the thudding ceased, leaving only silence in the hallway—and in the room too, as Ryan, who had been writhing on the floor, went suddenly still.

Fearfully, they all looked at each other, and then towards the door. Mae moved away from it as quickly as possible, warily scanning the knob and deadbolt.

“You don’t thin—”

An ear-splitting shriek cut her off, and she winced, hands clamping over her ears. The rest of the room followed suit, but it died off as quickly as it came. In its place a voice faded in, reverberating around the room as if it were being supported by the best invisible sound system in Kroonstad.

_“Doctor.”_

As one, they all looked up at the ceiling, as if the voice was coming from above.

Dr. Brooks gasped. “It’s—that’s Corporal Stewart. I think he’s talking to _me!”_

Graham shushed him. “Trust me mate, he really isn’t.”

The voice rang out again, its tone sharp, despite the casual, almost lazy cadence. As if Stewart already knew he had won.

_“We have taken the hospital. The staff is under our control, and the patients are in our hands. You and your friends are outnumbered, and surrounded. Attempt to fight back, and we will raze this hospital to the ground, along with everyone in it. Do not add to the blood on your hands, Doctor; give us the thing we want, and we will leave peacefully. Your friends know what it is.”_

Yaz was looking at Mae, whose face was pale, her hands trembling though she tried to hide it. She could tell Mae knew the voice was talking about her; it was written all over her face. A dead giveaway, if the others hadn’t been too busy listening to notice.

_"To demonstrate our goodwill, we will immobilize our troops until midnight. Only until midnight. You have until then to deliver the item. Do not try and play games with us, Doctor. You will not win. The Family of Blood will have its revenge."_

The message signaled its end with another screech that bounced around the room, sending hands flying over ears, until, just as before, it cut off. Slowly, the group lowered their hands, and looked around. A hush fell over the room, and that was when Yaz noticed that Ryan, on the ground, had stopped moving. The others were staring at him as well, the newcomers in slight horror, whilst the others just looked on in disbelief.

“Do you think they’ve left?” Yaz asked.

Mae, closest to the door, crouched and peered through the keyhole. “No, they’re still there. Just…frozen.”

“They’ve really stopped,” one of the officers said. “Just like that.”

“Until midnight,” the other, still sitting on the floor, added. “Unless we hand over whatever it is they want.”

“You mean, whatever it is the Doctor has,” Dr. Brooks said. “Which, unless I have accidentally fallen into some sort of familial feud, I don’t believe to be me.”

“It’s not,” Yaz added quickly. The officer standing up, the one who had helped them at the door, gave her a strange look.

“Well then, who the hell is the Doctor?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: what Yaz did? that's an actual move for dealing with, say, knife attacks or any other situation where you need to intervene between an attacker and his victim. 
> 
> don't ask me how i know that.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall are so sweet. Thank you for all the wonderful feedback. I'm afraid this one is a little shorter, and not as actionpacked as the last one, but I feel like the characters need a bit of a breather, ya feel

As soon as Stewart finished the message, he clicked off the comms system and turned to Lewitt, who had been listening beside him.

“You’re sure the blond nurse is the Doctor?”

“I listened at the door.” Lewitt was busy examining the arm which had previously been injured. “It’s a shame, this body. Had I been at full strength, we would have been able to implement our plan much earlier. The Doctor’s companion also managed to overpower me easily, and all because of this damned arm.”

“Do not obsess over such things, Son of mine,” Stewart said absently. He was still pushing buttons, bringing the troops into a temporary freeze. “You worked with what you had. That you were able to break free of the Doctor’s bonds, and snatch me from the event horizon…you have done well, enough to make me proud.”

Lewitt sighed, unconvinced. “I only wish Father of mine and Sister of mine were here as well.” 

“They will be, once we have the watch.” Stewart finished setting the troops, and turned to face Lewitt fully. “Once we have the power of a Time Lord, we will be able to manipulate the entire universe, and then we will undo what the Doctor has done to us.”

Lewitt eyed him dubiously. “And you don’t think the Doctor will change back? With the ceasefire, the Doctor’s friends have nearly six hours to convince her that—”

Stewart shrugged. “The ceasefire is a necessary risk. We don’t have the power to keep the troops active while we implement the failsafe. And you told me yourself that she doesn’t believe them. Tell me, Son of mine,”—he leaned forward, his eyes glittering under the dim green lights— “How long do you think it takes to convince a human to die?”

———

Yaz stared at the officer, trying to think of a good answer while at the same time trying to look as if she didn’t already definitely know. She settled for a shrug, and throughout the whole thing could feel Mae’s eyes burning into her, waiting for her answer. “I don’t know. But yeah, I don’t think it’s Dr. Brooks.” 

“Well, it’s definitely somebody in this room.” The man on the ground pulled himself to his feet, before turning to help the nurse beside him, whose eyes were fixed on Ryan’s unmoving form. She pointed a trembling finger. “Why d’you have one of _them_ in the room?”

Quickly, Graham stepped between Ryan and Joan. “He’s here because he’s with us. And if any of you do so much as lay a finger on him, you’ll get a pistol to the gut just like those things out there, courtesy of myself.”

His hand moved to his holster as he spoke, and Yaz realized she had forgotten that Graham, as an officer, carried a sidearm. So did Dr. Brooks, for that matter. And the two other men, also officers. Something about that tugged at the back of her mind. It was strange—throughout her day, she almost never saw officers about. They worked in their own offices, on things far above the enlisted staff’s heads. So how come there were suddenly so many officers in one room?

“What are you, his guardian or something?” the officer helping Joan stepped quickly in front of her, shielding her from Graham. As he did, his hand slipped almost absentmindedly into hers. Yaz noticed, and her eyebrows rose. She glanced at Mae, who caught her gaze for only a second before looking away, cheeks coloring. Yaz couldn’t tell if it was embarrassment or hurt, and she looked away as well, fresh guilt layering over her.

“Oh, stuff it, Oliver. Don’t you realize we’ve got to get along here?” the officer who had helped them at the door stepped up to Graham, holstering his sidearm. He stuck his hand out. “Name’s Arthur, sir. Arthur Pierce. That over there’s Oliver as you already know, and Joan behind him.”

Graham looked at him, then down at his proffered hand. After a moment, he took it and gave it a tentative shake. Arthur gave him a stiff nod, and then turned to Dr. Brooks. “Right, sir, what do we do?”

Dr. Brooks opened his mouth to reply, just as Graham and Yaz burst out at the same time: “He’s not in charge!”

They glanced at each other, and then Yaz gestured for Graham to go ahead. Dr. Brooks looked between them affronted, but before he could reply Graham cleared his throat. “Ahem, sir, well the thing is, I believe Yaz knows the most about the situation here. From what I understand, Ryan filled her in before he became…one of them.” His face twisted at the word, but he continued. “I think we should let her take charge for the moment.”

Dr. Brooks stared. “You expect me to hand authority over to a _nurse?”_

“No, but…” She stumbled, trying to think of a good reason. At her hesitation, Dr. Brooks snorted, and began to turn away. Yaz panicked. “Well actually, I do know the Doctor!”

All eyes rounded on her.

Yaz swallowed. So much for her earlier lie.

“You know who the Doctor is?” Oliver demanded. 

Yaz saw Mae’s head jerk up out of the corner of her eye, but she forced herself not to look at her. Instead she looked around the room, at all the eyes peering at her in various expressions of disbelief, anger, or shock. Her gaze fell upon Mae last, their eyes locking only for a brief moment, and then she saw her slip something into her pocket.

The pocket watch. After everything, she was still holding onto it.

And probably not about to let go of it anytime soon. 

Yaz gave a minuscule shake of her head, and saw relief flood Mae’s eyes, even as her own stomach twisted with guilt. It was the wrong thing to do; she should be marching across the room and tearing open the pocket watch, letting it work whatever magic it was supposed to have. But Mae looked terrified, and not just because of the things that had been banging against the door. Yaz saw, and understood; the moment she opened her mouth and gave away the Doctor’s identity, Mae wouldn’t be able to trust a single person in the room not to snatch the watch and have a go at it.

They probably would, in all honesty. Yaz couldn’t blame her for being scared. So she just dropped her gaze, despite her insides squirming with guilt, and turned back to the others. They were still watching her, waiting.

“Yes,” she said. “I know the Doctor. But she’s not here, so she gave me instructions.”

“This Doctor is a _women?”_ Dr. Brooks asked. Yaz heard a cough which sounded suspiciously like a snort coming from Mae’s direction, and suppressed the urge laugh. “Do you really expect us to take you seriously?”

“Oi, you better if you want to get out of here alive!” Graham threw Dr. Brooks a hostile look. “You heard her, she’s got instructions!”

“Well, what are they then?” Arthur peered at her, and Yaz opened her mouth, then closed it again. “Uh—”

The Doctor, what would the Doctor do? Yaz had the urge to turn around and ask Mae, only of course that would do no good. “Oh—I’ve got it!”

Where did the Doctor start when she didn’t know something? By asking questions, obviously.

And with so many people crowded into one tiny room, there had to be some answers. 

“Arthur!” Yaz leveled a finger in his direction. “The gun trick—how’d you know to do that?”

“Uh—” taken aback at the sudden question, he struggled for a moment. “Well, I fired warning shots, but it didn’t do anything. Neither did telling them I was armed—I don’t think they could see very well, you see. And then one got so close, I didn’t have any other option, so I just stuck my pistol in his chest, and said ‘don’t move’. And he didn’t. In fact, he backed away.”

“And you actually touched him? With the pistol, I mean?”

“I—yeah, I did. I remember.”

“So they can feel things, but they can’t see,” Graham frowned. “They can hear some things too, by the way Ryan was acting.”

“Not words, they can’t.”

He shrugged. “Alright, they don’t get words, but sounds to me they’ve got enough human left in them to understand a gun to the ribs. A direct threat.”

“Fine, but how much is that going to help us in here?” Oliver asked impatiently. “That’s nice to know, but would’ve been better about five minutes ago, if I’m being frank.”

“Are you daft, Oliver?” Arthur said. “You’ve got a gun, haven’t you?”

“That’s another thing!” Yaz turned to face Oliver. “Why do you all have guns?”

Oliver looked at her as if she were an idiot. “Because I’m an officer. We’re all officers.”

“Right, and you don’t think that’s a little strange?” Yaz demanded. “Of all the people, all the staff, who were infected, the ones who escaped are…a bunch of officers?”

Oliver shrugged. “You aren’t an officer, you’re a nurse. You’re all nurses.”

“Yes, but—” Yaz rocked back on her heels, stumped. “But that doesn’t make sense. There were nurses out there too. So why aren’t we affected like them?”

Joan paled. “Do you think we might be?”

“No, it would have happened by now,” Mae reassured her, though she didn’t look at all confident. “Whatever it is, it’s got to do with the people controlling them, right? They’ve done something to them all.”

“That was Corporal Stewart’s voice up there,” Dr. Brooks said. “I daresay he’s behind of all this.”

“And Lewitt,” Yaz added. “He more or less told us as much, when he chased us into here. He’s one of them.”

“Lewitt, the one with shell shock?” Joan looked over to Mae for confirmation, who nodded. “I always thought he was a funny lad. I almost never saw him sleep when I was on shift, not even once.”

“Lewitt passed whatever this is onto Stewart,” Yaz said, and then, when all eyes turned questioningly to her, added, “Ryan told me that. He figured all this out before he, you know…” her fingers gestured towards his prone form.

Arthur was nodding. “You know, that actually makes a fair bit of sense. Lewitt and Stewart, they were a pair of creepy buggers, weren’t they? Always staring. And I remember once I passed Stewart in the hall, and he tried to give me a clap on the shoulder. Told him it wasn’t appropriate to act friendly like…what?”

Yaz and Graham were staring at him, as if he’d just answered all of their questions.

“Say that again, son,” Graham told him.

“That it isn’t appropriate to act friendly with an officer?”

“No, the part before that!” Yaz said impatiently. “What’d he try to do?”

“He…tried to clap me on the back?”

Graham and Yaz exchanged a look. “Ryan always said that Stewart was weird with touching,” Graham said softly.

Yaz nodded. “I saw it too. He was always going around, touching people on the shoulders, the arms…”

“The nurses too.” Mae shuddered. “I told you Yaz, that’s the reason I always made sure we were on the opposite side of the dining room from him.”

“He never touched us.” Realization dawned on her, and she spun to Joan. “And you said you were on the night shift, yeah?”

Joan gave a tiny nod of her head. “If I’m being honest, I don’t really know who you’re talking about. I’ve never met this…Corporal Stewart.”

“And we don’t eat with you lot.” Understanding was dawning in Graham’s eyes, just as it was with Yaz, and Mae not far behind. The other three, however, looked lost.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand what you’re getting at,” Dr. Brooks said. “Are you two implying that Stewart is a carrier for some disease that allows him to control the actions of other people?”

“Who’s calling it a disease?” Graham said. “Maybe he’s just using some sort of advanced technology.”

“But how could he pass that on with just a touch?” Arthur asked. “They would have noticed if he’d slapped something on their backs, or at least I would’ve.”

“Search his back,” Mae said suddenly. All eyes in the room turned to her, but she wasn’t looking at them. She was staring at Ryan.

“Huh?” Yaz asked.

“Search Ryan’s back, and his shoulder.” Mae crossed the room and knelt down beside him. He was still completely immobilized, apparently a participant in the temporary ceasefire the Family of Blood had set. Mae tried to tug his collar back, but it was tightly buttoned down the front. “I need to cut his shirt. Somebody find me something sharp.”

Yaz was at a loss—what on earth could they find in an admin office?—but Graham dove immediately for his desk, and picked up a letter opener which had clearly never been used. He placed it in Mae’s outstretched hand, and she immediately went to work.

The letter opener turned out to be surprisingly sharp, and cut through the shirt’s thick material easily. In moments Mae had the cloth peeled back from Ryan’s shoulders. Without pause, she placed the letter opener to the side and began to feel along his shoulder blade.

More seconds passed, until at last Yaz couldn’t take it. “Mae, what’re you doing?”

When Mae didn’t answer, Yaz slid down next to her, and began to feel around as well, looking for—well, she didn’t know.

“A hard, flat disk, like a coin,” Mae answered before Yaz could even ask.

“How do you—”

“There!” Mae’s fingers came to a halt, and when Yaz looked over, Mae grabbed her hand and placed her fingers on the spot as well. Sure enough, Yaz felt what she was talking about; a flat disk, the size of a small coin, directly under the skin. As if somebody had neatly opened the spot up and slid the thing inside. Only there was no incision mark.

“What _is_ that thing?” Yaz asked. The rest of the group crowded in, curiosity pushing away their instinct to stay away from Ryan’s form. 

“Nano-neuro chip,” she answered without looking at Yaz, her fingers still feeling out the dimensions of the disk. “Bout a million tiny little nanobots, invisible to the naked eye. They slip under the skin and form a chip that the user can use to control the subject, which is _obviously_ illegal, but that doesn’t mean that some pla—”

She cut off abruptly, and looked up at the group, suddenly aware of everybody’s eyes upon her. Yaz was staring too, but for a different reason. For a moment, as she’d spoke, it hadn’t been Mae. It had been the Doctor, spouting off facts and scrunching her nose as she said the word _illegal,_ her facial expressions the exact same as Mae’s but somehow inexplicably different—

Oh, it was moments like these when it hit her just how much she missed the Doctor.

“How did you know all that?” Oliver was pale. Mae opened her mouth, and then just closed it and shook her head.

“Must have read it somewhere,” she mumbled. Yaz looked at her, and once again saw that same fear as before—the fear of discovery.

“Yeah, you did.” Mae looked up at her, and Yaz gave her a nudge. “Don’t you remember? That science journal we got our hands on one time. The section about advanced technology.”

“Oh.” Mae’s eyes widened. “Oh, right, that science magazine. I remember it now. Must have stuck in my head, somehow.”

The others were still looking at them with varying levels of suspicion, but then Graham pushed Oliver and Joan aside, and knelt down beside them. “Right, never mind that. How do we get it out of him?”

“We should just be able to cut it out, unless it’s armed.” Mae felt the disk once more, frowning. “No, not armed. We need a scalpel, though. And somebody who knows what they’re doing.”

Simultaneously, Yaz and Graham looked up to Dr. Brooks. As soon as he saw their expressions he shifted, and coughed, crossing his arms. “I don’t see a scalpel lying around here. Or any other sterilized surgical equipment, for that matter.”

“The letter opener would work.” Mae frowned. “Not sterilized, unless you have some alcohol lying around?”

She raised her eyebrows questioningly towards Graham, who gave a sad shake of his head. “Unfortunately, I didn’t get the memo about alcohol being allowed in the offices.”

“Right.” She glanced up at Dr. Brooks. “Well then, sir,”—there was a slight edge to her voice on _sir_ — “I’d be happy to assist you in helping this lad out.”

Dr. Brooks looked at her for a long moment, and then glanced at Ryan. Finally, he sighed, mustache twitching. “And you’re sure this will help the boy? I prefer not to make a habit of conducting impromptu surgical procedures, especially if the odds are uncertain.”

“As sure as I’ll ever be.”

And the unspoken _what else can we try?_ hung in the air, and though nobody put the words out loud, Oliver and Arthur shifted uncomfortably, and Yaz and Graham exchanged an apprehensive glance. What if it didn’t work?

But it had to. Because if they didn’t they had no other options left to try.

“Alright.” Dr. Brooks straightened, and began to roll up his sleeves. “Get me some kind of bandages, something to cut with, and a needle and thread if you have them. I want to finish this as soon as possible.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another chapter coming sooner, rather than later? it's more likely thank you might think
> 
> also i hope you all recognize my shameless crossover with the real human nature ep


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyy, you guys have all been really kind on the last few chapters (seriously, i live for your comments), so I thought I'd break schedule and put up the next chapter today, rather than waiting until next week. the next one will be on Monday, as per usual, but in the meantime I hope you enjoy this one as well! And wow, I can't believe we're already in the third act. Only a few more chapters, really.

It didn’t take Mae and Dr. Brooks long to prepare the necessary equipment. Handkerchiefs substituted as bandages, and Oliver managed to fish out a spool of thread and a needle from his trouser pocket. He had apparently been sewing a button back onto one of his uniform shirts when the chaos broke out.

Dr. Brooks knelt beside Ryan, indicating for the others to retreat from the area with a wave of his hand. Graham and Yaz stood up, and drew back with the others to the walls, where they watched the process in tense fascination.

And it _was_ rather fascinating, for Yaz had never seen somebody do field surgery—or any surgery, really—directly in front of her. As soon as Dr. Brooks knelt down and Mae pressed the letter opened into his hand, it was as if they had suddenly been transported somewhere else; to an operating room, perhaps, dealing with just another one of the war’s casualties.

And Yaz had never seen Mae as a surgical nurse before, though she’d mentioned that she’d assisted the doctors as such before transferring to Kroonstad. She was hyper focused, watching Dr. Brooks as he moved the letter opener with steady fingers, opening up an incision no more than two centimeters long.

The whole process didn’t take more than a few minutes. As soon as the cut was made, Dr. Brooks pressed the disk out through the opening, catching it in a handkerchief Mae had given him. He moved back and placed the handkerchief to the side, and then began to close the incision, using the needle and thread Oliver had given him

As soon as the disk came out, Ryan went limp. No longer was he frozen unnaturally still, nor did he start to squirm and move as he had before the ceasefire. He just sagged against the floor, eyes fluttering shut. 

“Is he…?” Graham whispered. His voice cracked, unable to finish the sentence.

“No, not at all.” Dr. Brooks set back on his heels, looked at his bloody hands in distaste, and then sighed and wiped them on his trousers. “He should be fine, if that thing works as Sister Smith claims it does. But of course, we can’t know what effect it might have had on him, until he wakes up.”

“And when is that supposed to be?”

Arthur pointed. “Looks like it’ll be in about another second.”

And sure enough, Yaz and Graham looked over just in time to see Ryan’s leg move. He was still on his stomach, but as they watched, he turned his head ever so slightly, so it wasn’t pressing until the rug, and groaned. Dr. Brooks and Mae jumped back warily, but then he spoke.

“Graham?…Yaz?…what…” he cut off with another groan, and tried to move his arms, then winced. “Ow…”

“Ryan!” Graham rushed forward and sank to the floor beside him, Yaz close behind. “You okay son? Here, Yaz, untie his legs!”

Yaz moved quickly to undo the belt around his calves as Graham worked on the belt holding his hands. The others watched in astonishment, and nobody made a move until the belts came loose. Then Arthur and Oliver rushed forward, and looped their arms under his, dragging him to a standing position, supported between the two.

“Can you stand on your own?” Arthur asked.

“I don’t..” Ryan shook his head back and forth, as if trying to rid himself of some fog. “I think in a moment, yeah. Just pins and needles, all over.”

He looked down at the belts strewn across the rug, and frowned. “Was I…tied up?”

Yaz cringed. “Sorry, but you sort of tried to attack us. You turned into one of the things that were after us in the hall.”

“Oh.” Ryan blinked, wide-eyed. “How’d you all turn me back? Wait a sec—does that mean I’m going to turn into one of ‘em again?”

“No, we got it out of you,” Yaz told him quickly, as fear sparked in his eyes. At her reassurance, it melted into relief.

“Oh, good.” He began to straighten, finding his balance. “You all have no idea how much I ache. And…hang on, who are you all?”

He looked around at the—to him— unfamiliar faces crowding the room. “Did you all get turned into those things as well?”

“No, we’re just survivors.” Arthur grinned at him, and withdrew his arm, though he kept a hand on his shoulder to make sure he didn’t fall. “You’re the only unlucky one here. Well, unlucky compared to us, I suppose.”

“I’ll say.” Ryan looked around, and his gaze snagged on Mae. He frowned. “Mae…?”

She nodded. “Hiya, pri—Ryan.” It was meant to be casual, but came out rather forced. Ryan’s frown deepened.

Yaz stepped forward. “Ryan, you should take it easy. Here—” she grabbed the chair in front of the desk, and turned it towards him. “You should sit down.”

“Thanks, Yaz.” He stepped away from Arthur and Oliver, and gave them a grateful nod, before moving forward to sink down into the chair. As he did so he looked up, and caught Yaz’s gaze just for a second, before looking away. It was too quick for anybody else to pay notice, but Yaz saw the message in his eyes.

_We need to talk._

“Son, are you sure you’re okay?” Graham was hovering beside him. He looked nervous, and Yaz couldn’t blame him; there had been a moment, when the disk had slid out and he’d collapsed against the rug, that Yaz had thought he might have died. And in that moment, she hated herself for not opening the watch when she should have.

Not that she had much of an opportunity now, because Mae was on the opposite side of the room, and her hand was twitching anxiously near the pocket where she’d stored the watch, as if she expected any moment for somebody to dive for it. Or for Ryan to point a finger and say, ‘it’s her! She’s the Doctor!’ Which he very well might. He was eying Mae in a way that didn’t exactly put Yaz at ease.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Ryan said wearily. He leaned back in the chair, but the moment his skin touched the chair back he yelped, and his hand went over his shoulder. His fingers found the handkerchief, and when he pulled them back, there was blood.

“My days, what did you all do to me?” he asked nobody in particular, but it was Dr. Brooks who stepped forward.

“We removed the device with which Stewart was controlling you.” He glanced at the floor, where the disk still lay on the handkerchief, and then bent down and scooped it up, tilting the cloth so Ryan could see. “Sister Smith made a lucky guess about the device, and we managed to extract it.”

“Ah.” Ryan’s eyes flickered over to Mae, who gave him a slight, stiff nod. Dr. Brooks placed the handkerchief containing the disk on the desk, and stepped back. “So you all know who’s behind this?”

“More or less, yeah.” Graham’s hand touched Ryan’s shoulder, and then, at his wince, withdrew. “But we’re locked in here, until we hand over whatever object they want.”

“Oh, well that’s—”

“Not entirely true,” Yaz interrupted. “We’re not stuck in here, remember? We have the whole hallway.”

“But we can’t go out there with those things,” Joan said. “I don’t care if they’re stopped, they could come to life at any moment.”

“Not until midnight, actually,” Oliver corrected her. “Though I agree with Joan; I think it’s a bit of a risk.”

“Why?” Yaz asked. “I mean, yeah, but we do have weapons. You yourselves saw that the pistols work to push them back.”

“Yes, but that’s four pistols against a dozen or so things outside.” Oliver shook his head. “And what do you expect us to do out there? It doesn’t make sense to leave the room.”

But Yaz was still thinking, a half-baked plan forming in her head. “But now we know how to change them back. And if they’re still frozen, they can’t do anything against us, yeah? So we could go out, and do what we did to Ryan—”

“You mean, _I_ go out and—and deactivate them?” Dr. Brooks looked rather pale at the prospect, and more than a little affronted. “Sister Khan, it’s all very well and good to undo the threat of one of those things, _in our midst—”_

“Thanks,” Ryan mumbled.

“But I highly doubt we’d be able to do such a thing to the dozen or so people in the hallway without our enemy noticing. Not to mention the bad surgical practice—”

“Alright, alright!” Yaz tossed her hands in the air. “I get it, bad idea. But we’ve got to do _something_ before midnight, haven’t we?”

“I propose we find this object the Doctor, whoever he—she—is, appears to be hiding,” Arthur volunteered. Yaz glared at him.

“Oh, and how do you expect to do that if we don’t leave the room?”

Across the room she felt Mae’s thankful eyes upon her, and, just a meter away, she could feel Ryan’s disapproval upon her as well. She half expected him to object, to point out her misdirection, but instead he just said, “I agree.”

“What?” Despite herself, Yaz was taken aback.

“I agree. With the plan. If we turn them all back to themselves, that means we’ve got more numbers, yeah? And it’ll be saving those people out there too.”

“Yeah—I mean, of course,” she said, and glanced around the room. “What do you all think?”

Arthur shook his head, as did Dr. Brooks. “It still seems risky to me.”

“Well, we can’t just wait here.” Everybody looked towards Joan in surprise. Except for a few comments, she had remained silent, staying close to Oliver. Under the combined gaze of the entire room, she shrank slightly, but kept going. “We know how to take those—those chips out, and save those people. So shouldn’t we be doing just that? We are a hospital, aren’t we?”

Dr. Brooks objected immediately. “The lack of sterilization alone—”

“Well, can’t Mae figure something out with those chips?”

Mae looked at her in surprise. “Me?” 

Joan shrugged. “Well, didn’t you say you read about those chips in that fancy science magazine? It must have said something about how they work.”

“I—” Mae looked as if she were about to shake her head, but Yaz caught her eye and gave her a tiny, encouraging nod. “Well, it was a while ago…”

“Oh, you must remember something.” Ryan looked Mae over, thoughtfully. “You were the one who got that thing out of me?”

“No, that was Dr. Brooks. I just happened to guess right.”

“Huh.” Ryan studied her a moment longer. “Thanks.”

“Wasn’t nothing.”

“So, maybe you should try and look at it,” Yaz cut in. Ryan turned towards her, and she met his gaze, only briefly, but long enough to know that he was thinking the same thing as she, and probably Graham as well; clearly, the Doctor had known something about the chip. And whatever the Doctor knew, perhaps they could get that knowledge out of Mae as well. It was clearly buried in her subconscious somehow, somewhere. They only had to bring it forth.

“Yeah, you should take a look,” Ryan said. He turned to reach behind him for the chip, and then stopped, wincing. “…ow. Graham?”

“Gotcha.” Graham carefully picked the handkerchief up, avoiding the blood stains, and offered it to Mae. She looked at him for a moment, and then around the room, before letting out a sigh of defeat. “Oh, alright. But odds are ten to one I’m bound to break it into two instead.”

She crossed the room and removed the disk from the handkerchief, holding it up to examine. They all watched, breath held, until after a few moments she lowered it and shook her head. “Sorry. Dunno.”

“Well, keep on trying, yeah? Here, take my chair.” Ryan rose from the chair with far more stability than he’d possessed a few minutes prior, and gestured for her to sit. “Think about it, okay? And in the meantime, we’ll catch some rest. We all should.”

He said this last part with a meaningful glance around the room, and it took only a second for the message to sink in. Then the others gave murmurs of agreement, shuffling around so as not to appear as if they were watching. Oliver gave Mae once last dubious glance, before turning to Joan and gesturing towards the floor.

“Shall we sit?” 

Joan nodded, blushing, and as they settled into a corner together, Yaz couldn’t resist rolling her eyes. She had to suppress a laugh when she caught Arthur doing the same. He noticed, and grinned in a rather flirtatious manner.

“Care to sit as well, Miss Khan?”

“Uh…” For a brief moment Yaz was tongue-tied, trying to remember how she was supposed to politely reject someone. “Um, I’m actually going to try and help Mae. You know, because I’ve read the article too.”

“Oh, right.” Disappointment flashed across his features, but only briefly, and then he too turned and found a comfortable place next to the bookshelf. He examined the titles along the lower shelf, then pulled one out and began to read. 

“Alright, Sister Smith.” Dr. Brooks spoke stiffly, as if trying to pretend that they were still on normal terms. “I’ll leave you to it.”

He turned to Graham. “Major O’Brien, how about we finish going over that report from earlier?”

Graham opened his mouth to protest but, unable to find a proper argument, closed it again and hung his head. “Alright. But—let’s go over to that corner, yeah? Leave the girls to work.”

“Yes, I suppose.” Dr. Brooks cast a dubious glance over Yaz and Mae, and then turned to scoop up the papers on the desk which, miraculously, hadn’t been scattered during the frantic events from earlier. “Good luck, Sister Smith.”

His _good luck_ still carried strains of doubt, and as they moved off Yaz had to nudge Mae in the shoulder to keep from glaring at him. 

Ryan, however, did not go away. Instead he moved around the back of the desk and dropped into what had formerly been Graham’s chair, as Yaz clambered up onto the desk so that she could see over Mae’s shoulder.

Mae glanced around, checking to see that everybody was busy, and then gestured for Yaz to bend closer. When she complied, Mae leaned over and whispered, “Listen, you know that’s rubbish. I’ve no idea what to do with this thing.”

“You knew before.” However, even Yaz frowned as she stared down at the device in her hands. It looked far more complicated up close; not the smooth disk it had appeared from afar, but ridged with dozens of tiny circuits.

“I don’t know how I knew that,” Mae whispered furiously. She cast a furtive look around the room again, but nobody appeared to be listening. Graham and Dr. Brooks were huddled in a corner, discussing something in low tones over the stack of papers they had taken with them.

Ryan leaned forward across the desk. “Yeah you do.”

Mae tossed a glare over her shoulder. “You can shut up about that, Ryan Sinclair. I don’t believe you for one second. And even if I did, I’m not trying it out.”

“Are you two really going to argue about this now?” Yaz cast a severe look towards Ryan, effectively telling him to shut up, and he glowered. Mae jerked her gaze back to the object in her hands, and began turning it over, though it was clear she wasn’t really concentrating.

“Yaz, are you serious?” Ryan whispered. “We all know what they want, and there’s no way we’re going to give it to them. But we can’t fight them off without the Doctor.”

“Go get the Doctor then,” Mae shot back. She hadn’t turned her head, her eyes still locked on the chip in front of her, but the crease in her brow told them she was listening.

“You’re right here,” Ryan retorted. Mae’s shoulders stiffened, and her hands paused for a moment, thumb pressed against the disk. “All you have to do is—”

“Ryan!” Yaz whispered fiercely at him. “It’s not helping anything, you know that. You can’t force her.”

“Like hell we can’t!” he turned to look at Yaz, gaze hard. “You won’t force her, that’s the problem. If you had just opened the damn thing an hour ago we—”

“I got it.”

“Huh?” Both Yaz and Ryan paused, then turned to look at Mae with twin expressions of confusion. 

“I got it,” she repeated. She was staring down at the chip in her hands, pinching it between thumb and forefinger, and as they watched, ran another finger over the edge. In response, a tiny light flashed, once. “I reversed the command sequence.”

“H-how did you know to do that?” Yaz asked, half astonished even though this was exactly what she’d hoped—no, prayed for. She just hadn’t actually thought it would work.

“No idea.” Mae shook her head, still staring down at the chip in disbelief. “I just…knew. How could I know that?”

“Wait, so what does that mean, ‘reversed the command sequence’?” Ryan leaned even farther across the table, craning forward to make out the chip. “How does it help us?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Mae looked up, nose scrunching in annoyance—but not annoyance at Ryan, exactly, but the annoyance of one who wasn’t sure how to explain what appeared to them perfectly understandable. “There’s a certain series of commands transmitted to the nanobots when they enter the target, telling them to solidify, when to take over the victim, and then whatever commands the controller issues. I just flipped that around. Now instead of transmitting the signal to keep people under control, it transmits a signal telling them…”

“To be released,” Yaz breathed. “No _way.”_

Mae looked up at her, face flushed with pride, and not a little bit of confusion. “It just…came to me, somehow. How is that possible?”

“You know how.” Ryan was looking at her with no small amount of excitement on his face. “You know perfectly well, don’t you?”

“I—” Mae just shook her head helplessly, but Yaz could see the apprehension growing in her eyes. “But that can’t—I can’t _be_ whoever you’re talking about. I can’t. I’m _me.”_

Her voice dropped on the last word, plaintive desperation seeding her tone, and without thinking, Yaz reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Never mind that now. How about we show the others what we’ve got?”

Ryan’s outraged glare was burning a hole in the side of Yaz’s face, but she ignored him and slid down from the desk, turning to the others waiting patiently on the far side of the room. “Hey, we’ve got something!”

Graham and Dr. Brooks turned around at her call. Arthur looked up from his book, and Oliver and Joan, who had been passed out against each other, stirred and then opened their eyes, looking blearily up at the source of their wake-up call.

“What is it, Yaz?” Graham asked encouragingly. The rest of the room peered at her with varying expressions of hope and apprehension.

Yaz smiled, and gestured to the chip in Mae’s hand. “She’s solved it. We know how to turn the others back to normal.”

———

As soon as Dr. Brooks turned to him and suggested going over the report, Graham knew that they wouldn’t be going over any bloody paperwork. It was as obvious as knowing that their plan, if it could be called as such, didn’t hold much chance at working. Graham didn’t expect Mae to suddenly remember the Doctor’s endless technological know-how, just as he didn’t expect to find himself suddenly capable of running a sub-four minute mile. Still, Yaz and Ryan seemed strangely invested in the idea, and he still wasn’t all that clear on the watch situation (though he was starting to get a vague idea), so when Dr. Brooks suggested the paperwork, he volunteered going off to the side himself. 

He figured the doctor was planning on talking about something private, and he was right, As soon as they got to the far corner, Dr. Brooks spread the papers out in front of him, and then leaned over and whispered, “Major—well, you’re not really a major, are you?”

Caught, Graham just shook his head. Somehow, he didn’t think it would matter in the morning. “Fraid not. And to tell you the truth, I don’t know anything about admin work. I’m just a bus driver.”

Dr. Brooks seemed slightly taken aback at this sudden wealth of information, but he covered it with a small cough. “Er, right. And I take it to believe you’re also a…friend of the Doctor? You know who she is?”

Graham instantly became wary. “That depends on why you’re asking.”

Dr. Brooks didn’t answer immediately. Instead he looked down at the papers in his hands, shuffled them, and then drew in a deep breath. After a moment, he let it out. “I suppose…I suppose you know who she is, don’t you? This mysterious Doctor.”

“Like I said; depends on why you’re asking.”

Dr. Brooks drew himself up slightly. “Major—well, I suppose you’re not a major—I assure you, my number one interest is to keep this hospital safe. And from the sounds of it, the only thing between the safety of this hospital and its destruction is Mr. Stewart’s ultimatum. Therefore, I’m very interested in knowing where this Doctor’s item is, so that we may hand it over and put an end to this absolute headache of a situation.”

Graham grimaced. Headache of a situation? That was the description he was going with? “Well, if I’m being perfectly honest—you’re asking the wrong person. I don’t know much about that object, and I don’t know much about the Doctor’s intentions, but I do know this; if somebody threatens you, and promises that you only need to hand something over so’s they leave you alone, they’re almost always lying. So I wouldn’t put all your hopes on that ultimatum, doctor.”

Silence emanated from his companion. Graham waited, and out of the corner of his eye saw Dr. Brooks’ hands clenching the paper, knuckles turning white. His expression however, when Graham stole a glance, was far-off, contemplative.

“It’s Mae, isn’t it, Graham?”

_This_ took Graham by surprise. “H-how do you figure?”

“Believe me, I’ve known that woman for a while, and she’s…how do I say this?” he trailed off, staring without seeing at the paper in front of him. “She’s a bit mad, always has been. A bit off, I would say. Smart as a whip, don’t get me wrong, but…she’s off-focused, you see. Always seems to be looking for something else.”

He fell silent for another moment, and then continued. “And it’s you three as well. You and Miss Khan and that Ryan fellow. You lot are always looking to her, as if waiting for her to take the lead. Or tell you what to do. Or as if you’re guarding her.”

Graham didn’t say anything to this. He didn’t know what to say. Had they been so obvious? It was true he had wished, more than once, that the Doctor was there to fix things for them. Had maybe glanced at Mae a couple times, wondering how it could be possible that she was standing there, plain as day, and yet had no idea who she was. But had he really been so obvious?

When he didn’t answer, Dr. Brooks let out another sigh. “Perhaps I’m wrong. Or perhaps you’re silent because you don’t want to tell me I’m right. But Maj—Graham, make no mistake; if I find out what that object is, and I can get it, I will hand it over without a lick of hesitation. I don’t care who this Doctor is, or what she wants, so long as she’s endangering my hospital.”

Graham opened his mouth angrily to reply, only to be interrupted by Yaz’s shout. “Hey, we’ve got something!”

Dr. Brooks turned around immediately, leaving Graham to take a moment to compose himself, before he too turned around. He caught sight of Yaz, excitement written across her face, while Mae sat beside her, clutching the chip, looking proud, but confused. Ryan, oddly enough, was staring daggers at Yaz, for reasons Graham couldn’t fathom.

“What is it, Yaz?” he asked, hoping against hope that it was good news. Yaz smiled, and pointed to the chip in Mae’s hands. 

“She’s solved it. We know how to get the others back to normal.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for the wonderful comments! this chapter is a little short, but more action and drama is coming, I promise. and soon, too.

She had been expecting a more enthusiastic reaction than blank staring. To be fair, however, half of their audience had only just woken up. They looked from her, groggily, to the chip in Mae’s hands, and then, several seconds later, seemed to realize the implications of the discovery.

“Ah. The plan.” Oliver didn’t seem too happy at the prospect. He moved slightly closer to Joan, protective. “I suppose you want—?”

“Of course.” Dr. Brooks stepped forward, and cast a reprimanding look towards Oliver. “As Major O’Brien and I were just discussing, Miss Khan’s plan seems to be the best one we’ve got at the moment.”

Graham cast him an incredulous look that did not go unnoticed by Yaz, but he didn’t say anything. Dr. Brooks continued, gesturing towards the chip.

“If, as you say, we do have a proper way of turning those people back into themselves, then we have a very good chance of taking this hallway. Even the entire floor. And, since we still have no idea who the Doctor is or what object she seems to be hiding, taking back ground seems to be our best chance of waging war once the ceasefire ends.”

Arthur was nodding along from the floor, and even Oliver seemed faintly impressed, if not a little scared. Graham was glancing at him with a skeptical look in his eyes, but Yaz and Ryan were staring at him, stunned.

When nobody responded, Dr. Brooks glanced around the room, and gave an embarrassed cough. “Ahem, as you all seem to have forgotten, I am still a military officer as well as a doctor.”

“Yeah. No, of course.” Yaz quickly reshuffled her features into what she hoped was firm agreement. “That’s more or less what I was thinking, actually. Only not as detailed.”

“I think it’s brilliant, sir.” Arthur was already clambering to his feet, hand on his holster as if to check whether his pistol was still there, safe. “And I say we should start immediately, as it’s nearly—” he glanced at the clock on the wall— “eight o’clock already.”

“Right, but the next question is, who goes outside to actually do it?” Oliver was still on the floor, Joan still leaning against him, but as they all turned to look he reluctantly began to climb to his feet. “We can’t just all leave. It’s unsafe, not to mention stupid. So who stays and who goes?”

“Well obviously the ladies will be staying safe.” Arthur caught Yaz’s gaze and, strangely enough, sent her a wink. She was too surprised to return it, and indeed, slightly offended. 

“Hang on.” Mae stood up as well, the chip still carefully held in her palm. “I can’t stay here. I have to show you lot how to operate this thing.”

Despite her earlier offense, Yaz’s heart skipped a beat at that. Somehow, the idea of Mae being close to those things made her throat close up. “Can’t you just…show us now?”

“It’s a bit more complicated than _that.”_ Mae seemed affronted at the very suggestion, and once more Yaz was reminded of the Doctor. “If you do it wrong, you might end up reactivating the person you’re trying to turn off. Best I show you, at least the first time.”

“Alright.” It wasn’t, but Yaz tried to keep the bitter inflection out of her voice. “Mae goes out. I can go with her—”

“Ah, I don’t think so.” Dr. Brooks raised an eyebrow at her, as if to say _really?_ “Ladies will stay here, except the unfortunate inclusion of Sister Smith. And Mr. Sinclair, I believe, should rest for a little while longer.”

Ryan looked for a moment as if he wanted to argue, but then seemed to think better of it, and shrugged. “Yeah, I don’t think I’d be the fastest at the moment in a getaway scenario.”

“So the rest of us will go out.” Graham clapped his hands together, though there wasn’t much enthusiasm behind the gesture. “Joan, Yaz, Ryan—you’ll stay here, until the hallway’s cleared out. Then you won’t have to stick to the same bloody room.”

Yaz caught the message immediately, and turned slightly to see if Ryan had caught it as well. He had, and she gave the tiniest dip of her head to signal her understanding.

_Get Mae away from the others, then we’ll figure things out._

“Agreed.” Arthur was actually smiling, though it wasn’t the bravest of smiles. He looked as if he were trying to gear himself up for the challenge, with only partial success. “Us four officers will go out with Sister Smith, seeing as we have the best defense against those things.” He gestured towards his pistol. “And once she’s got us all up to speed, we’ll take things from there.”

Yaz nodded, though suddenly she didn’t like the plan at all. It seemed far too much to ask of people when she wasn’t out there herself, leading it. She was a police officer, for heaven’s sake. That was her _job._ Only now, stuck in a nineteenth century hospital, she couldn’t give herself away. To do so would be to possibly give Mae away as well. Who, when Yaz snuck a glance at her, didn’t seem that scared at all.

“Alright.” She leaned against the surface of the desk, and resisted the urge to cross her arms. “We’ll be here. But be careful, yeah?”

Her words were directed more towards Mae and Graham, with an added emphasis towards Graham— _keep her safe_ —but the whole room nodded in agreement. Dr. Brooks gave one look around, and, seeing that all those meant to go outside were on their feet, brought his own hand to his holster, and withdrew his sidearm. “Well, no point in delaying it. We don’t have all that much time left.”

He strode over to the door, pistol aimed at the ground, though he held his arm stiffly in readiness. “Graham, you’re with me. Mae, you follow behind. Oliver and Arthur, you’ll take up the rear.”

Nobody said anything but they all complied, crowding near the door with Mae in the middle, looking for all the world as if she were being flanked by guards. She might as well have been, for what they were about to do. Once again, Yaz’s stomach jolted apprehensively.

As Dr. Brooks reached out to push back the deadlock, Mae turned her head and snagged Yaz’s eye. Yaz swallowed and, even though she knew Mae was still probably furious at her, sent an encouraging nod. For a moment, she looked as if she were about to smile, but then she just dropped her gaze and gave a slight shrug before turning back to face the door, just as Dr. Brooks turned the doorknob.

He paused for a moment, listening, before pulling the door open, just a crack. The door let out a slight squeak as the wood scraped against the floor, but beyond that, there was only silence. The doctor waited, then opened the door just a bit more. Still, silence. 

The third time, he opened it about halfway, and, when nothing happened, swung the door fully open. Yaz and the rest of the room winced, waiting to see sudden movement, milky eyes and stiff limbs crowding into the doorway, but—there was nothing. In the hallway, under the light of only a few candles, they could make out the eerie shapes of the immobilized puppets, scattered down the corridor. They looked like ghosts in the darkness.

“Right,” Dr. Brooks whispered, and brought his pistol up fully, pointing it at the frozen figure closest to their door. “We’ll start with this one, and work our way back, going as quickly as possible. Mae?”

Mae nodded. “We better get a shift on then, haven’t we?”

Dr. Brooks took this as confirmation and, with one look back over his shoulder—he was pale, Yaz noticed—muttered a quick “Alright then,” and moved out into the hallway. The others followed swiftly, making almost no noise beyond the shuffle of their footsteps, and when Oliver, the last of the lot, passed the threshold, he reached out and closed the door behind him.

And then there was nothing to do but wait.

———

The entire hallway reminded Mae of a dream she’d had a couple weeks ago, one of those strange ones where she hadn’t been herself, but had been a man instead, with strange shoes and a pinstriped suit and a blond companion who looked at him with absolute adoration in her eyes. There had been ghosts all over London, but those had been in the shape of apparitions, and these—these were real people. Real people, caught under one man’s control.

Mae still wasn’t sure she bought the part about them being aliens.

They neared the ghost closest to the door, an orderly whose hands were stretched out towards their door, his mouth gaping in a frozen scream. Dr. Brooks circled around to his back, as did Graham, and hissed, “Alright, Sister Smith, how do you work that thing?”

“Well—” the truth was, Mae had no idea, just as she’d had no idea what to do to reverse the command sequence, only she’d done it. Something about the act of turning the thing over in her hands, feeling over the circuits, had sparked some dormant memory deep within her. She hadn’t entirely known what she was doing, until it’d worked. “First, we need to find the chip. It has to be in his arm somewhere, or his back. Those are the places Stewart would touch people.”

Dr. Brooks gave her a reluctant look, but gestured with his chin for Oliver and Arthur to step forward. “Arthur, you check his arms. Graham will check his back, Oliver and I will keep lookout.”

None of the party seemed entirely happy about the idea, but they complied. Fortunately, this one didn’t take long to find; the man’s chip was embedded right in the center of his right palm, and Arthur couldn’t resist a quiet crow of success, which Dr. Brooks shushed immediately, casting a fearful glance around the room. It made no difference, though; the other puppets remained frozen in place.

“Sister Smith, now is your time.” Dr. Brooks stepped close to the orderly’s body, his pistol hovering just a few millimeters from his lower back. If he suddenly began to wake up, it would take Dr. Brooks only an instant to close the gap and, hopefully, force him away. “Show us how that thing works.”

Mae moved closer until she was right in front of the orderly’s outstretched palm. Her heart was pounding through her chest, and not just because of their precarious situation. She had no idea what she was meant to do. She was only praying that, as soon as she began, whatever buried instincts Ryan claimed she had would take over and do the job.

She held up the reconfigured chip to the man’s palm, and waited. Nothing.

After a second, she heard Oliver shift impatiently behind her. “Are you doing it yet?”

“Shh! Let her think!” Arthur shot back at him. “It probably takes a bit.”

“Yeah, take your time, love.” Mae looked up the see Graham flash her a familiar, grandfatherly smile. It was instantly recognizable, though she couldn’t recall ever being on the receiving end of it.

She returned it hesitantly, and bent her head back toward the man’s palm. She could feel the others watching her, feel Dr. Brooks’ dubious gaze boring into her. She tried to think of how she had done it before, back in the office. She hadn’t, though. She had just been playing with the disk, had been imagining what would happen, if—

There! Suddenly, Mae knew exactly what to do. She felt for the chip under the man’s skin, and pressed her own reconfigured chip to it using her thumb, the way one might press a stamp to a letter. In her mind’s eye, she imagined the man waking up, looking around with a questioning gaze, his eyes normal—

“Catch him!” The chip dislodged, falling back into her hand, and Mae jerked her head up just in time to see the man sag, then fall backwards. Graham and Dr. Brooks rushed in to catch him, and staggered under his weight. The man’s eyes were closed, but after a few moments, as Mae watched, they began to flutter open.

“W-where am I?” he looked around groggily, and then up into the faces of Graham and Dr. Brooks, and paled. “Dr…Brooks? Am I—did I—what’s happened, sir?”

“Take it easy, son.” Dr. Brooks passed a glance to Graham, and together they began to heave the man up, into a standing position. “You’re not in trouble, you’ve just been under the influence of something, through no fault of your own.”

The man blinked and looked around the hallway, then jumped as he caught sight of the other puppets. “W-what are those?”

“They’re harmless,” Graham assured him. “And none of your concern for the moment, as I’m guessing you need a rest.”

“I, I—”

“Relax, son.” Dr. Brooks gestured towards Oliver and Arthur, who moved forward immediately. “These two here will take you to a safe place to rest for a moment, get your bearings. There are people there who will explain it all.”

“O-okay.” The orderly licked his lips nervously. “I-I mean sir. Yes sir.”

Graham and Dr. Brooks carefully withdrew their arms, and the orderly took a shaky step forward. Arthur gestured for him to follow, and gave a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, lad. You’re going to be alright.”

Once the orderly and his guard had moved off, Dr. Brooks and Graham turned to Mae.

“Knew you’d figure it out,” Graham told her, eyes sparkling with excitement. Dr. Brooks said nothing at first, but his eyes swept over her, scrutinizing.

“And you can teach us this…method?”

“Think so.” Mae swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. She thought back to what she had did, how it had worked. How had it worked? It was almost like she’d…

“You have to use your thoughts, though.” At their confused expressions, she unclenched her fingers, revealing the chip, and held it out to them. “I can’t properly explain it, but the gist of it is that you press it to where the chip is inside the person, and then you just…imagine them becoming human again.”

They stared. Dr. Brooks spoke first.

“Rubbish.”

“Oh, like you didn’t just see it work?” Graham cast him a disdainful look. Dr. Brooks looked at him, then at Mae, and let out a short huff as he realized he was in the minority.

“Fine. I suppose I shall try the next one?”

Mae would’ve rather had Graham do it—inexplicably, she trusted him a lot more—but Dr. Brooks was still in charge, somewhat, so she just nodded, albeit reluctantly.

“If you’d like, sir.”

———

For several moments after the door clicked shut, none of them moved. Then Ryan cleared his throat.

“Well, that could have been easier.”

Yaz spun around to face him. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

Ryan was still in the chair behind the desk, leaning forward in his seat. He looked at Yaz, opened his mouth to say something again, and then shut it and let out a short huff. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“Yeah, well—” a rustle of movement came from the side of the room, and that was when they both remembered that Joan was in the room too. They turned awkwardly to look at her, and she gave a meek wave of her hand.

“Hi.”

“Uh, hi.” Yaz looked at Ryan, and he threw her a glance that she recognized all too well. It was obvious in the stubborn clench of his jaw, the slight frown in his brow. He was not going to drop this. “Joan, can we…have a moment to be alone?”

Joan looked at her, and then around the room. “I…suppose I can just sit over here and read a book.”

Yaz nodded in relief. “That would be great, actually. Thank you.”

“Mmhm.” She gave them both a strange look, but then turned to the bookshelf and grabbed one at random, before sitting down with her back against the wall, and opening to the first page. Yaz watched her for a moment, and then turned around and stalked around the desk to Ryan’s side. He leaned back, to give her space, and she sat down heavily on the surface on the desk, close enough that they could whisper and not be overheard. Probably.

Ryan wasted no time, but leaned forward and whispered, “We have to turn her back. Now.”

Yaz gritted her teeth. “And how do you expect to do that?”

“Take it out of her pocket. Easy. You could distract her, even.”

“Ryan, I will not—”

“Shhh.” He cast a glance towards Joan, but she didn’t appear to be listening. They were whispering anyway, their voices nearly inaudible, even at the close distance. “I didn’t mean it like that. But you know you could. You know she trusts you. So why haven’t you turned her back yet?”

“She doesn’t trust me anymore.”

“Oh, come off it.” Ryan rolled his eyes. “You know she trusts you more than anyone in here. You could convince her, I’m sure of it. So why haven’t you?”

“I—” Yaz stalled, stymied. “We don’t even know the watch will work.”

Ryan exhaled in frustration. “I _told_ you, Stewart said it contains the Doctor’s consciousness. That’s gotta be it, and you know it.”

“Yeah, but—”

Ryan wasn’t finished, however. “Chances are, if we opened that damn thing the Doctor would be back with us in half a second, and you still don’t want to, just because you’ve had a nice old time with Mae and now you like her better than—”

“Ryan!” Yaz looked down at him, shocked. He stopped, but his expression dripped with hurt, and beyond that, anger. “That’s not true. I miss the Doctor as much as you and Graham.”

And that _was_ true, though she knew Ryan wouldn’t believe it. Yaz missed the Doctor plenty, missed her geeky technobabble and the reassurance of knowing that, no matter what, she would always pull them out of scrapes with nothing more than a shoelace and a scrap of paper. She missed the wonder with which the Doctor saw the universe, missed the way she looked at Yaz when she managed to say something brilliant. She missed her more than anything.

But…she liked Mae Smith too. More than that, really. Mae had won her over, and even if Yaz could see the striking similarities between her and the Doctor, there was something about Mae that was open, that was _human._ That didn’t make Yaz feel as if she were being left in the dust, no matter how many brilliant things she managed to spout.

“Fine.” Ryan’s voice cut through her ruminations, and when Yaz looked over at him she immediately knew that it was not fine. He still looked angry, or maybe it was bitterness. “Fine. You miss the Doctor too. I’ll give you that. But have you ever considered that maybe you don’t want to give this up because you’ve finally gotten exactly what you wanted?”

“I don’t—”

“Maybe—” he jabbed a finger at Yaz, though his voice stayed at that same, furious whisper. “Maybe you’re not so excited about the Doctor coming back because you know she doesn’t feel the same way about you as Mae.”

He leaned back, satisfied, as Yaz stared at him, dumbfounded. She tried to open her mouth, tried to think of some sort of refutation, but her mind was reeling and the only thing she could come up with, which she knew she could never say, was _he’s right, isn’t he, oh my god he might be right—_

Just then the door swung open, and they all jumped, jerking around in terror, only to see the triumphant faces of Arthur and Oliver. Between them, a tall, confused orderly was looking around in bleary confusion.

Arthur smiled, victorious. “In case you were wondering, it’s working. We’ve begun to take back the hallway.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're really getting properly into the climax now aren't we? hopefully the next few will by metaphorical page-turners, or at least thats my goal
> 
> and again, thank you for all the kind comments! i am a bit behind on answering, but i definitely appreciate them!

Ryan and and Joan leapt to their feet as Yaz slid off the desk, and they rushed forward to help the orderly, who still appeared rather faint.

“I’m fine,” he croaked as they neared, but as Arthur removed his hand from his back, he swayed ever so slightly. “Can—can someone explain to me what’s going on?”

“I will,” Joan volunteered. Yaz looked at her in surprise, but she just shrugged. “Seems like you two need to talk.”

“Reckon we’ll be back pretty soon. In the meantime, you lot take care of him.” Arthur nodded towards the man, then gestured to Oliver, and together they turned to leave. The man looked back fearfully, and Joan offered her hand. “I’m Sister Joan, from the night shift. Mind telling me your name?”

“Uh—Gregory. Name’s Gregory.” He took her hand tentatively, and then jumped at the click of the door behind him. “Was I—was I like those things out there?”

“For a bit, but you’re all better now,” Joan told him soothingly, and led him to the wall, where her abandoned book lay. “What happened was…”

Her voice dropped into a quiet murmur, and Yaz and Ryan looked at the pair for a moment, before turning back to each other. Ryan’s face contained less anger than before, Yaz noticed, but in its place was a stubborn satisfaction of somebody who knew he was right.

“Listen, I’m not going to make you admit it.” He leaned in, his voice dropping low. “But you have to understand that—”

Without warning the door swung open again, and they all leaped back, startled. But it was only Mae, who came in dragging the hand of none other than Sara, who looked just as confused as Gregory, if not more.

“They made me come back, those jerks,” Mae said, but she sounded more exhilarated than upset. “But they’ve figured it out, I explained it all very carefully—”

“Aren’t you going to explain it to me as well?” Sara asked, and withdrew her hand from Mae’s firm grip. She reached up and rubbed her eyes, as if she had just woken up from a very long sleep. “I mean, what happened? One minute I was going to check on the room with—”

“Yes, I’ll explain it all,” Mae told her distractedly, and gestured towards the chair in front of the desk. “Here, sit a minute and get your bearings—”

She led her to the chair as Yaz and Ryan watched, babbling almost excitedly about the device she’d reconfigured, until Sara interrupted to tell her that ‘that was all well and good, but what actually happened?’, and Mae, a tad less enthusiastic, began to explain the actual sequence of events which had led to Sara’s waking up.

“Right, so I suppose we’re on the next couple.” Ryan’s gaze was fixed on Mae, watching as she helped Sara into the chair. 

“Yeah, I guess.” Yaz was watching Ryan. For the first time, she noticed the hurt that flashed through his eyes as he watched Mae. It reminded her of how she’d felt at the start, when she couldn’t help but think that Mae’s lack of recognition was akin to the Doctor rudely brushing her off, constantly. How much that had hurt. 

Only it wasn’t the same thing. And Mae and the Doctor weren’t the same person. Were they? Yaz frowned, and looked away. Her eyes found Mae, and she couldn’t help but catch a snatch of the long-winded explanation she was giving to Sara, which had, inexplicably, fallen back to detailing the reconfigured advice. It sounded a lot like the Doctor’s technobabble.

Yaz shook her head, and turned towards the door, trying to clear her thoughts of anything but the next person coming through. It was no use to wonder, anyway. At this point, she couldn’t tell where Mae ended and the Doctor began.

———

It didn’t take long before the entire hallway was clear, and Graham’s office was packed with newcomers who, one by one, had been filled in as to the happenings of the evening. When the four officers made it back with the last person in tow, faces tense but flushed with success, they deposited him inside and closed the door, then Dr. Books beckoned for the room’s attention.

It didn’t take long for him to get it. The volume of the room was already at a low level, as if the occupants, despite the success of the operation, were still waiting for some noise to indicate that everything was about to go sideways. They all turned to him at his first cough, and by the second the whole room was silent.

“Good evening, everyone.” They stared back at him blankly. There were a few murmured _good evenings_ in reply. “Right. I’m sure you all have been updated on the situation, but in case there are any more questions, I want to make this clear: we are under siege. An enemy force has taken the hospital, and are using advanced technology to manipulate the hospital staff. Many of you have experienced the effects yourself.”

He paused. Some of the audience exchanged glances. 

“A few hours ago, the people threatening our hospital declared a ceasefire until midnight, as a gesture of goodwill. As far as we know, at twelve o’clock tonight they plan to attack again. Our job is to be ready.”

“Sir, what does that mean?”

Dr. Brooks didn’t look pleased at being interrupted. He leveled a cool gaze at the man who had spoken up, a young doctor near the front of the room. He shifted, suddenly uncomfortable under the doctor’s scrutiny.

“It means, Mister—Wards, I believe?” A nod from the man. “It means that, in the few hours remaining until midnight, we need to take back this entire floor, if possible. It means we have to continue as we have been the past hour, with several people working to turn those…under control back to their normal selves, while the rest set up guards, assist the newly-recovered, and tour the rooms for anything that could possibly help us when the time comes to fight.”

For the first time that evening, Yaz was grudgingly glad that Dr. Brooks was part of their ensemble. She still wanted to slap him for all the things he had said to Mae, but she could reluctantly admit that he kept a fairly cool head under pressure. Not to mention that it was easier to rally the rest of the hospital staff around him rather than, say, her or Ryan. Graham had the benefit of carrying an officer rank, but she wasn’t sure how many people would be willing to follow the admin officer into a potential life or death situation.

Dr. Brooks surveyed the crowd of people. “Are there any questions before we divide up?”

Instantly a hand went up, but the speaker didn’t wait to be called. “Yeah, I have one sir. Who are we fighting? And what do they want?”

Dr. Brooks didn’t immediately respond. He craned his neck to meet the speaker’s eye, who was standing at the back with a rather surly look on his face, and said, “Unfortunately, I cannot answer either of those. All I can tell you is that these attacks were unprovoked, and that they won’t be tolerated while I am still the director of this hospital.”

Was Yaz imagining things, or did his eyes flicker to Mae when he denied knowing the aliens’ demands? 

The audience shifted uneasily, but there were no more questions, and no outright refusal to fight. Dr. Brooks seemed pleased enough with this. “Very well. We’ll divide the tasks as follows; any man who is armed will accompany the lieutenants here,”—he nodded towards Oliver and Arthur— “and myself to begin recovering the victims in the next hallway. Unarmed and able-bodied men will set up guard over the hallway, and the next one, once it has been cleared. The nurses and those incapable of fighting will stay behind to take inventory of the rooms, and see what may be useful to us. Understood?”

A pause. Slowly, a wave of nods rippled throughout the room. People began to look around at their neighbors, moving off towards their likely groups; the officers, able-bodied and armed, followed by the able-bodied men with no weapons, and then the nurses and a few men who clearly had not had an easy time under the mind control.

All told, there were about twenty people, including their original party. Yaz looked them over, and tried to tell herself it would be enough.

She couldn’t believe it.

Dr. Brooks glanced at the clock, which was edging closer to ten o’clock. “Right, all armed men, with me.” He raised his own pistol in the air as a signal, his other hand clenched around what Yaz knew to be the reconfigured chip. Once Mae had shown him how to use it, he’d taken full control of the thing, near as Yaz could figure, and sent a disgruntled Mae back to hide in Graham’s office with the others.

A handful of officers timidly approached the front of the room, some already drawing their pistols. Arthur gave them an encouraging smile and opened the door, holding it open for Dr. Brooks to cross the threshold. The others followed behind, looking for all the world like a gaggle of ducklings waddling nervously after their mother.

This left about a dozen people, who looked at each other confusedly. Yaz opened her mouth to speak, and then remembered that none of them were going to take her seriously. Luckily, Graham appeared to have thought of the same thing, for he raised his hand and said, “All able-bodied men, come with me to set up guard!”

This seemed to do the trick, for after a moment several men detached themselves from the group and approached the door. Yaz noticed Ryan hanging back, looking uneasily between the two groups, and felt a surge of relief. After all that had happened to him, she didn’t want him forced out on the front lines anymore, and especially without a weapon.

But one of the men noticed, and cast him a dirty look. “Hey, you look just as able-bodied as I do.”

Actually, Yaz didn’t think he did. His shirt was ripped down the back, and a handkerchief had been tied around his shoulder to cover the spot where they’d taken out the chip. He looked tired, and sore to Yaz’s eyes, and she could already see the start of a bruise forming on his neck, a bruise she’d been responsible for. He looked like a mess.

But the man crossed his arms and pinned him with a look that Yaz knew would not be budged, no matter how many excuses Ryan managed to dredge up. And he seemed to realize this as well, for after a moment of hesitation Ryan glanced at Graham, then at Yaz, and sighed. “Yeah, I’m coming.”

Yaz could see the worry in Graham’s eyes, and so she understood completely when he caught her eye and tilted his head toward Ryan, the message obvious: _I’m keeping an eye on him._ She nodded, and then watched as he ducked out, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach. Then she turned to the last few people in the room, which amounted to several nurses and a couple of extremely nauseous looking orderlies, and forced herself to smile. “I suppose it’s just us now.”

“Shouldn’t we be doing something?” Sara had clearly recovered from her bout of mind control. Her hands were on her hips and her eyes were narrowed in determination. “Dr. Brooks said to search the rooms, and I for one don’t want to just stand here while men are out there risking their lives.”

“Yes, but some of us have to stay here to help the ones they send back,” Yaz said weakly. She could already see the nurses exchanging dubious looks. They were clearly not going to be satisfied with waiting around for the victims to be sent back.

“One of us can stay here and look after them,” Joan volunteered. “And I don’t mind, because I’m good at it. The people who are too sick can stay here as well, and the others can go out and search the rooms. That makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, well—” 

“The rooms are important too,” Sara told her. “We only have a few hours to figure out how we’re going to fight back.”

“Okay but—” Yaz was losing. She knew it. What the others were saying made sense, as well; the only problem was that her stomach turned at the thought of sending them out, unsupervised. It was a fairly safe situation, sure, with the guards posted, but what if—?

_This is probably what having your own squad is like. Might as well get a feel for it now._

Yaz had been begging for responsibility her entire (short) police career. Now she had it, and she wasn’t sure she wanted it.

“Fine,” she surrendered. “But I’m going out to search the rooms as well. And I want you all to go in pairs. And if there’s any sign of trouble, don’t even try to make it back to this room. Just lock the one you’re in, and wait it out. Got it?”

A number of ‘yes ma’ams’ rumbled throughout the room. This took Yaz aback—but only momentarily, before a warm feeling of pride spread through her chest.

Yes ma’am. She liked that. 

“Okay. Sara, you pick somebody and start searching.” Her eyes swung to Mae, who hadn’t said a word throughout the entire discussion. She was leaning up against the wall, arms crossed, with her eyes fixed on Yaz. “Mae, you’re with me.”

That was one rule to which she would not make an exception. She was not going to let Mae out of her sight.

Mae didn’t seem to like the idea very much, but she muttered a ‘fine’, and pushed off the wall. Yaz followed Sara and another nurse out into the hallway, conscious of Mae right at her shoulder, and watched them go off to a room down the left side of the hallway before she chose the closest door on the right and pushed it open.

It turned out to be another office, nearly identical to Graham’s. Yaz wondered briefly if the entire hallway was made up of offices and, if so, how were they ever going to find something they could use to fight Stewart and Lewitt off? Then she pushed that thought out of her mind, and stepped inside. If the options didn’t look likely, they were going to have to make options. There was no other choice.

Well, there was one other choice, but Yaz very deliberately didn’t want to think about that, mainly because it just sent her mind whirling with agonizing indecision—over a choice that wasn’t even rightfully hers.

Mae didn’t say a word as she followed her into the room. She didn’t say a word as Yaz crossed over to the desk and struck a match to the candle upon it, sending weak light through out the room. She didn’t say a word as Yaz picked up the letter opener, identical to Graham’s, and turned it over in her hands. She just moved to the bookcase and began to examine the titles, though Yaz couldn’t imagine what she expected to find.

“We could use this as a weapon maybe. If we had to.”

“Hmm.”

“Maybe we could take more of those chips out, and you could turn them into something that would help us.”

“Dunno how.”

“You knew how to reconfigure the last one.”

“Dunno how I did that.”

All of a sudden, Yaz couldn’t take it. She let the letter opener clatter to the desk, and turned to face Mae, scowling. Mae didn’t respond to the noise she made, but kept examining the books.

“You know, if you something’s bothering you, you can just say it!”

There was a pause. Mae was still looking at the books. Yaz propped herself up on the edge of the desk, and glared at her, ready to wait forever.

“Arthur certainly seems fond of you, don’t you think?”

All the anger fled Yaz, to be replaced by astonishment. _“That’s_ what you want to focus on?”

Mae was still staring at the books, but all of a sudden Yaz realized that she wasn’t actually looking through them. Her finger was poised to run down the spine of a thick tome. It had been for a while. 

Unexpectedly, Mae let out a sigh and turned around, leaning back against the bookcase. Her gaze found Yaz’s general direction, but she refused to meet her eyes. Rather, she studied her feet.

“It’s a bit easier than focusing on anything else, isn’t it?”

“I—” Yaz didn’t know what to say. “I guess so. But it’s still a stupid reason.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s an annoyingly obvious flirt. And I’m not interested in him.”

Mae’s eyes rose at last to meet Yaz’s. There was something unreadable in her expression; as if there were something she couldn’t quite figure out, and it troubled her. “So, who are you interested in?”

Instantly, Yaz flushed, all the way from her hairline down to the tips of her toes. It wasn’t a fair question. Because Yaz was pretty sure she knew the answer, and Mae almost definitely knew the answer, and she was still making her say it.

“I—” she drew in a sharp breath, and let it out in a sigh. When she spoke, it was nearly inaudible. “It’s you. You know it is.”

“Huh.”

What was _that_ supposed to mean? “What d’you mean, _huh?”_

Mae surveyed her, the troubled look growing ever clearer by the second. “I mean, are you sure it’s me? Me, and not the Doctor?”

Yaz felt like she’d been punched in the gut. All she could register was disbelief, and then the crazy, irrational urge to laugh. First Ryan, and now Mae? How much did the universe have it out for her? “I don’t—I’m not in love with the Doctor.”

But even as she said the words, they had the filthy taste of a lie, and she knew just by the way Mae looked at her that it was as obvious on her face as it tasted in her mouth. She tried again. “It’s not like that between us.”

“Why not?”

And Yaz didn’t know how to explain. Because Mae asked it so simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world—why not? Why weren’t Yaz and the Doctor together, if they seemed to work so well together? If Yaz missed her as much as she said, if Mae and the Doctor really were the same person—why not?

Mae was looking at her, waiting for an answer, so Yaz shook her head and attempted a self-deprecating chuckle. “It’s—it’s a bit more complicated than that. Because I’m human, and the Doctor is—”

And then she stopped again, because she didn’t even _know_ to say. The Doctor never talked about her past, never opened up except in little tidbits disguised in jokes that Yaz grasped at greedily because she never had the courage to ask herself. She never had the courage to try and be more for the Doctor, to be more _to_ the Doctor, to be more than—

A friend. A companion. A PC from Sheffield who just wanted to see the universe. Nothing else. It was safer, that way.

“She doesn’t see you that way, does she?”

Yaz realized her gaze had slid down to her shoes only when Mae’s question brought her head jerking up. “W-what way?”

She knew. Of course she knew. She sounded like an idiot, asking such an obvious question, wanted to take it back immediately—

“The way I see you.”

_Oh._ “You don’t—you can’t—”

“Oh, shut _up!”_ Without warning Mae collapsed back against the bookcase, burying her face in her hands. She let out a groan. “You’re an absolute arse, you know that? Lying to me this whole time, letting me think that—that you liked me, and now I see it was all because you’re in love with some, some _Doctor,_ some fairytale person, and apparently I don’t even exist!”

Yaz reacted instinctively, jerking to her feet. “That’s not true!”

“Oh, _sure.”_ Mae raised her head from her hands, and even in the candlelight Yaz could see the red around them. She looked desperately as if she were trying not to cry. “Right, and it’s only coincidence that I have her face, isn’t it? And everything else about me, how many things of those are hers, and not mine? My whole life’s dream, wanting to be a doctor, is that some funny little touch she put on my story because it made her laugh? Am I—”

“Stop, stop!” Yaz didn’t even realize she was striding towards the bookcase until she was halfway there, though she didn’t know what she was planning to do, just knew that everything Mae was saying was wrong, _wrong._ “She’s not like that, you don’t understand! She’s smart, and kind, and understanding, and she’ll go to the ends of the universe to help her friends—”

“Oh, and I won’t?” Mae’s eyes were blazing with anger now, red-rimmed with tears quivering dangerously at the edges. “You think I wouldn’t be any of those things, or try to be? But it doesn’t matter, because they’re all hers, aren’t they?”

“But they’re not!” Yaz cried in frustration, just as she reached her and stopped, quivering with—anger? Frustration? Grief? She didn’t know, but they were only a few centimeters away, so close she could see every speck in Mae’s hazel eyes. “You’re not, I didn’t—I don’t like you because you’re her, don’t you get it? I like you because you’re _not!”_

As soon as she said this, Mae froze, whatever tirade she was about to leap into slipping from her lips. Her eyes locked on Yaz, and just for a moment, Yaz thought she had said the right thing. And then, slowly, Mae shook her head. Her eyes turned soft, and incredibly sad.

“Oh, Yaz. You only like me because I love you the way the Doctor won’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope yall dont mind me inserting my stage direction here but; im really trying to portray yaz as someone whose confused over what she feels about the doctor, why she likes mae vs the doctor, whether they're different people, etc. i think yaz doesn't always knows what she feels, and tries to much to say the right thing rather than truly examine her feelings. Or at least, that's how I tried to portray her here/in the story. hope that came across.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, we're here. after twenty chapters, all i gotta say is i really hope this one holds up. oh, and as always, thank you all for your lovely comments.

“How many do we have now?”

“We’ve gotten another half-dozen more, sir.” Dr. Brooks glanced over his shoulder to the small group of newly-freed people stumbling their way back to the secured hall. Oliver was leading them, looking back occasionally to ensure they were all together.

“And how many until this hallway is secured?”

“Uh, another ten or so, sir.” Arthur squinted against the dim candlelight. “What time is it?”

Dr. Brooks glanced at his watch. “About ten-thirty. At this rate, I don’t have high hopes for securing the entire floor.”

“Me neither, sir. But we’ll do what we can.”

Arthur bent his head, about to place the chip against the frozen man’s hand. Suddenly, the fingers twitched. He paused, unsure if he had imagined it. Had the man’s fingers really just moved? 

Slowly, he looked up, into the face of the frozen man and his milky white eyes, locked unseeingly in place.

The man turned his head slightly to face Arthur, and blinked.

———

“How is the teleportation signal, Mother of mine?” Lewitt called down to Stewart, who was sprawled underneath the spaceship, only his feet visible. 

“Very powerful, Son of mine,” Stewart answered, his voice muffled. “And the detonator is locked into it. As the place blows, it’ll route enough power to our ship to send us at least ten kilometers away.”

“Good.” Lewitt stared down for a moment from the railing of the ship, watching what he could see of Stewart working. “And will we blow the place even if we get the watch?”

“We will get the watch.” Stewart’s voice was firm. “But even then, I see no reason why not. We still have to get to the TARDIS, after all. This will be the easiest way to do so.”

“Right.” Lewitt’s fingers drummed against the wall. “And do you think—”

An urgent beeping interrupted him, and he spun around, to the monitors.

“Wha—” he bounded closer, peering at the screen. “Mother of mine!”

“Yes, Son of mine?” Stewart’s voice came clearer, as if he had just moved out from underneath the ship. 

Lewitt’s eyes were fixed on the screen. “When do the nano-chips start alerting us about signal loss?”

“After about ten percent.” Stewart stepped inside the spacecraft, wiping his hands between a dirty rag. “Any fluctuation between one hundred to ninety percent is considered normal—”

He stopped as his eyes found the screen. Lewitt turned to him, and tapped a trembling finger to the screen.

_Signal Loss: 88%_

Stewart sucked in a heavy breath. “Those idiot apes,” he growled. “They’ve actually managed—”

Another urgent beep sounded, and the percentage ticked down from 88% to 87%.

“Mother of mine, should I reactivate the troops?”

For a moment, Stewart didn’t move. His eyes were locked on the screen, and he huffed out through his nostrils, releasing an angry whistle of air.

“Mother of mine?”

At last, Stewart spoke, though his eyes never left the numbers, which had now dropped down to 86%.

“Yes,” he growled. “Reactivate the troops. The ceasefire is over.”

———

Graham stationed Ryan last, and, coincidentally, together with him.

“Are you alright, son?”

“You’ve asked me that about five hundred times already, Grandad.” Ryan looked at him with exhausted eyes. “And honestly? I’m okay. I just want this to be over.”

Graham gave him another worried once-over. “You’ve done good though son, you know that? You’ve done a damn good job.”

“Really?” Ryan leaned up against the wall, right next to the door they were meant to be protecting. “Doing what?”

“Well you saved the girls, for one thing.” Ryan gave him a doubtful look, and he nodded vigorously. “Oi, don’t give me that skepticism! I heard about what happened, how you fought off one of those alien fellows—”

“I just knocked him off his feet,” Ryan grumbled, but there was a pleased look in his eye all the same. “Anyways, it’ll all be useless if Yaz doesn’t get the Doctor to turn back.”

“Yeah.” Graham frowned. “It’s in the watch, isn’t it? I haven’t been caught up on all the details yet, but—”

Ryan was nodding. “Looks like it, yeah. I mean, that’s the best I can figure. It’s pretty near what Stewart said, anyway. Only Mae won’t come close to opening it, and Yaz keeps egging her along like she doesn’t want the Doctor back.”

Graham chuckled. “Oh, she does, I’m sure of it. But it’s got to be a bit hard for her, seeing as she’s been around this Mae all the time. I think she’s started to look at her as somebody different from the Doctor, and that’s not a good thing.”

“Yeah, I definitely agree.” There was a dark look in Ryan’s eye, but he didn’t elaborate. Instead he said, “So what do we do if the ceasefire ends, and Mae still isn’t the Doctor?”

“Well actually, there’s something I need to tell you about that.” Graham dropped his voice, and looked around at the other guards stationed down the hallway. They didn’t appear to be listening. Ryan, however, was listening intently, a frown creasing his forehead. “You see, when I was talking to Dr. Brooks in the corner—”

“Let me guess, it wasn’t paperwork you two were going over?”

Graham sighed. “I almost wish it had been. Listen, he’s smarter than he looks—a little too smart, in my opinion. He pretty much knows that Mae is the Doctor—”

“He _what?”_

“Shh! Keep your voice down!” Graham gave another glance around the hallway. “Yes, he knows. And he doesn’t know about the watch, I think, but he more or less gave me an ultimatum; if by midnight there’s no sign of the Doctor, he’ll hunt up that object and hand it over himself.”

Ryan looked fit to boil over. “That son of a—”

“Do you really want the whole hallway to hear us?” Graham caught the curious eye of the guard one door down, and gave him a friendly wave. He returned it, confused, and after a moment looked away. 

Ryan was still not quite as calm as Graham wanted him to be. Still, he managed to drop his voice to a whisper. “Graham, this is serious! We’ve got to warn Yaz, maybe that’ll give her the kick she needs to—”

“Shh!”

He stopped short in confusion. “I was whispering that time!”

“No—listen!” Graham jabbed a finger down the hallway, and Ryan followed his gaze. The hallway was empty, almost eerily so, and silent—

Or, not quite. As he listened, straining his ears, Ryan realized that something was coming from the hallway. Something that sounded like…footsteps. Multiple footsteps. Moving fast.

Moments later, the word “Run!” reached his ears, and then just a second later, a figure rounded the corner, heading fast for them, followed by another.

Ryan squinted. “Is that—Arthur and Dr. Brooks?”

“It looks to be, yeah,” Graham muttered. “Oh, and that doesn’t look good.”

For as they got closer, it became clear that Arthur and Dr. Brooks were not just running—they were flat out sprinting, as were the men on their heels.

“Fall back!” Arthur cried as he reached them. “Fall back, the ceasefire is over!”

“What d’you mean, over?” Graham cried, but Arthur kept going, beckoning to the guards behind them. “Fall back to the end of the hall! If you’re unarmed, find a room and stay there!”

“Dr. Brooks!” Ryan called as he passed, only a few seconds behind Arthur. To his surprise, he slowed to a halt, panting. “What happened?”

“The creatures have come back to life.” Each word came in a short gasp. “The ceasefire has apparently ended.”

And then he looked up, and fixed Graham with an icy gaze. “Graham, I am going to find that object.”

And then he took off, running down the hallway. Graham and Ryan exchanged one short glance, and then sprinted after him.

———

Yaz took a step back, reeling. “I never said that. I never _thought_ that.”

Mae gave a harsh, bitter laugh, run-through with tears. “Stop lying to yourself, Yaz. Stop lying to me. You like me because I’m everything the Doctor is, only not, because I was stupid enough to fall in love with you back.”

Yaz was struck speechless. “How can you say that?”

Mae sniffled, and wiped again at her eyes. “What, that I’m in love with you? At least one of us isn’t lying.”

“No, you idiot!” Suddenly tears were blurring her vision, and since she couldn’t see she just pressed close, jabbing her finger into Mae’s collarbone. “How can you think that? That you’re just an imitation, that you’re not real?”

“How can I be?” Mae shot back. She brushed Yaz’s hand away, who stared at her furiously. “She just thought me up, took a few things of herself and stuck the rest in a watch, so what else am I? Only her, but less!”

“No, you’re not!” Yaz saw Mae glance away, saw the disbelief there, and something desperate gripped her. Without thinking, she grabbed Mae’s hands, twining their fingers tightly together. “Mae, listen to me!”

Mae’s gaze jerked down to her hands, to Yaz’s fingers tangled with hers, and then up to her eyes.

“I don’t—” she was fumbling again, _why_ was she always fumbling? “I can’t let you think that you’re less than her. That you’re not real. Because you’re—god, I don’t even know what to say. Only from the moment we’ve met—properly, as you, not the Doctor—you were brilliant. And at first I just thought you were the Doctor, only a little changed, but you’re _not,_ and I don’t know how to make you believe it, I just know that I love you the way you are, and not because you’re some stupid knock-off, okay? Because you’re not a knock-off, not at all.”

Mae was looking at her now, really properly looking into her eyes, into _her,_ and for a moment Yaz felt like she was being read; like Mae was looking into her soul, and pulling it out, examining all the pieces to see if she was telling the truth.

So she let her. Mae’s eyes tracked over her face, tear-stained and puffy, and then down to her lips, and then down to the hands still caught up in hers. Then she looked up, back into her eyes, and asked, softly:

“Am I real to you?”

And Yaz just nodded, through thick tears. “As real as she is. As real as I am.”

Mae opened her mouth, about to say something, and then stopped, and looked towards the door. Yaz watched her, confused. “Wha—?”

And then she heard it too. Faintly, just far off enough that they could almost trick themselves into believing it wasn’t real.

“Fall back!”

———

Yaz looked back at Mae, and saw her own fear reflected back at her.

“I guess the ceasefire is over,” she said softly, and Mae simply nodded. There was something else in her face besides fear. Or rather, it looked like the kind that came from the sick realization of having to do something she desperately didn’t want to do.

Yaz glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s not midnight yet.”

“No.” The word slipped out quietly, and Yaz’s gaze fell back to Mae. She was still standing against the bookcase, one hand wound in Yaz’s fingers, but then she pushed off and brushed past her, her hand trailing out of Yaz’s grip. She made it to the center of the room and stopped, her back to Yaz.

“Mae…?”

Mae turned around at the sound of her voice. A terrible look of indecision flashed across her face. “I don’t…I don’t want to open it.”

“Hey.” Yaz took a step towards her, then another. “Nobody said you had to.”

“No.” She shook her head, and dug her hands into her pockets, but kept them there. “I know you need her. She’d fix all this, wouldn’t she?”

“She has a good success rate,” Yaz admitted. “But nothing’s certain.”

She got to Mae and stopped, and then reached into her pocket to drag one of her hands out. Mae let her tangle their fingers together, and as they did, Yaz’s mind hummed with indecision, her heart pounding wildly at the pure unfairness of it all. Why did Mae have to die for the Doctor to live? 

“Yaz—” the sound of shouts echoed in the hallway, followed by a slamming door. They both jumped. Mae looked up, towards the door, just as another slam echoed across the hallway. Not too far off, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Dr. Brooks cried, “Sister Smith!”

“They’re looking for me,” Mae whispered. Fear flickered in her eyes. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Yaz told her firmly. She held up their hands, locked together. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Mae looked at her, and a ghost of a smile twitched at her lips. “You’ll fight off the combined strength of Dr. Brooks and the aliens?”

“No, but we will.” Yaz smiled, but it was rather watery. “We’re good together, aren’t we?”

Mae shook her head. “We would be.” 

More shouts rang out in the hallway, followed by the sound of footsteps. Suddenly Ryan’s voice sounded as well, followed shortly by Graham’s.

“Yaz!”

“Mae!”

They both looked towards the doorway. 

“We didn’t lock it,” Mae whispered. Yaz just shook her head.

“So any minute—”

“Wait—just, wait!” Yaz turned back to Mae, saw the panic and uncertainty flaring in her eyes, along with that stiff, heartbreaking determination, and suddenly knew what she had to do.

Perhaps Mae didn’t have to make that terrible decision—perhaps, Yaz could make it for her.

“Listen, before they come in, let’s not think about anything, let’s just—”

Without waiting for agreement, she dragged Mae close, threw her free arm around her, and pulled her into a deep kiss. For a second, Mae was too surprised to respond, but then she pressed her lips to Yaz’s as if she had no time to lose. Yaz felt one hand tangle in her hair, as the other wrapped around the small of her back, and then stopped focusing on her hands and started focusing instead on the hungry way their mouths pressed together, messy and desperate, teeth grazing lips, noses knocking together, a quiet moan, Yaz thought, coming from Mae— 

Yaz let her hand creep down, towards Mae’s pocket. 

After several long seconds, Mae pulled back, and rested her forehead against Yaz’s. Their bodies were still pressed together, limbs tangled up, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

“You need her, don’t you Yaz?” her voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper. “More than the others. _You_ need her back—your Doctor.”

In those few words, Yaz could hear all that quiet despair, that fear she had been trying so desperately to ignore—along with a bleak surrender. Her heart cracked.

“No, that’s—I-I—there could be another way.” She was grabbing at words like straws, anything to rid Mae of the dismal acceptance in her tone. 

“Oh, Yasmin Khan.” Their foreheads were still pressed together, lips so close they could easily touch, and Yaz felt Mae sigh, her warm breath touching her cheek. “You are a _terrible_ liar.”

And then she reached into Yaz’s hand, the hand in which Yaz had withdrawn the pocket watch and, before Yaz could react, tore it out of her grasp and pried it open.

“No—!”

But it was too late. Light filled the room, a blinding, golden light, more beautiful and heartbreaking than anything Yaz had ever seen, and she instinctively brought her arm up to shield her eyes, stumbling back as a wave of heat washed over her, before forcing it down again to squint at the chaos unfolding in front of her.

The light flowed into Mae all at once, forcing her head back, her eyes rolling, and for a terrible moment Yaz thought that it was a mistake, that they had all been wrong—but then just as suddenly, the light stopped flowing, and the pocket watch slipped from Mae’s fingers as she crumpled to the floor.

Yaz caught her just before she hit, and eased her up gently against the desk. The pocket watch wasn’t so lucky; it clattered, open, to the floor. Yaz ignored it.

“Mae? Doctor?”

Shouts were closing in now, but Yaz ignored them.

“Doctor!” she wanted to take her shoulders, shake her to wake her up, but she was terrified that she might do some irreparable damage. And what if it hadn’t actually worked? What if it was still Mae, and the Doctor was gone forever? What if both of them were?

The door slammed open. “Sister Smith!”

Yaz looked up, teary-eyed, into the startled face of Dr. Brooks. In one hand he held his pistol, pointed towards the ground. His eyes were wild with fear and adrenaline.

Yaz glared at him, then looked back down at Mae’s—the Doctor’s?—unmoving body. “She’s not here anymore. It’s not her.”

“Wha—” she looked up again just as Ryan and Graham crashed into the room, sending Dr. Brooks stumbling forward. “Is she okay?”

“I don’t know.” She was trying not to cry, but it was incredibly hard. The Doctor—if it was her—wasn’t moving, didn’t even look like she was breathing. Graham and Ryan stared, aghast, the danger outside momentarily forgotten.

“Did she open the watch?” Ryan asked.

“What do you think?” Yaz snapped at him, and then immediately felt bad. “I’m sorry, I’m just—”

“We understand, Yaz.” Graham’s voice was kind enough for her to look up, and he gave her a smile. “But do you know if she’s okay?”

“I don’t understand,” Dr. Brooks cut in, before Yaz could reply. He gestured with his pistol towards the unconscious Doctor. “Is this her? Your mysterious Doctor? Or is that Mae?”

“We don’t know,” Yaz told him. “She just opened the watch and passed out, and now she won’t wake up.”

Dr. Brooks frowned in disgust. “Well what good will that do? We have a crisis on our hands, so if you’ll excuse me—”

He spun around to either leave, or slam the door shut, but, whatever his intended goal, he never completed it. In the doorway stood a nurse with misty eyes, her arms outstretched. Behind her, two more puppet-people approached rapidly.

“Oh, damn it all!” Dr. Brooks cursed, and rushed forward, jabbing his pistol into her chest. “Get back, you—”

The nurse paused, and looked down at the pistol. She reached out, and slowly pushed it away. Then she looked up at Dr. Brooks and, in a flash, had her hand around his throat.

“Oh my god!” Ryan leaped back, horror painted upon his face.

“The guns don’t affect them anymore!” Graham stepped back, and glanced down at his own pistol, which he had clumsily drawn moments before. “What the hell are we supposed to do now?”

“We have to protect the Doctor,” Ryan said. He glanced towards Yaz, only for a moment, but long enough to see the apology in his eyes. She hesitated, and then nodded, leaping to her feet. “Right.”

“H-help me!” Dr. Brooks cried, his voice gurgling.

“Oh, for crying out loud—” Graham tossed his pistol to the side and strode forward. He reached Dr. Brooks and, to Ryan and Yaz’s utter astonishment, began grappling with the hands around his throat.

“Well, don’t just stand there!” he called to them as they stared, immobilized. “Get some weapons!”

Yaz and Ryan scrambled for something, anything. Yaz scooped up the letter opener on the desk, and Ryan dove for Graham’s discarded pistol.

“We can’t actually kill them!” Ryan told Yaz desperately.

“I know!” Her mind was racing. How were they supposed to beat them back, with no weapons, no Doctor, and no time? “Ryan, what are we going to do?”

“I don’t know!”

“Wow, missed a lot apparently.”

Yaz and Ryan froze, and looked at each other. Then, together, they turned around, and looked right into the bemused face of the Doctor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaaand the doctor's back!
> 
> was yaz trying to take the watch away to open it? or take it away so mae wouldn't? i don't know; so, i deliberately left it ambiguous. or, third option; yaz didn't really know herself.
> 
> anyway, i had a lot of fun with this chapter, and i hope you guys enjoyed it/hope it delivers all the emotional feels i was trying to cram in there. and don't worry; we've still got a few chapters left! the story's not quite over yet.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, thank you guys all so much on the wonderful comments on the last chapter! I really appreciated every single one, and while I am a little behind on my inbox, i promise i will try to go through and reply as soon as possible.
> 
> anyways, now we're in the final stretch! only a few more chapters to go. hopefully the ending will live up to the drama i tried to bring :)

The Doctor was already on her feet, examining her dress with fascinated confusion. “What am I _wearing?”_

Yaz spoke first. “Doctor—?”

The Doctor’s head jerked up, and she hit her with a dazzling smile. “Hiya, Yaz! How long was I out for? I think I—ooh, those don’t look good.”

Graham had forced Dr. Brooks free of the nurse, but another one had made its away around them, and was heading towards the Doctor with outstretched arms.

She approached it curiously, ducking around its grasping arms as if they weren’t easily capable of strangling her. “Oh dear, looks like you’re in a bit of a jam. Let me just—”

She reached into her pocket, scrabbled around, and then let out an exasperated groan. “Where’s my sonic? How do I not have my sonic?”

She patted her dress, found nothing, and spun around, scanning the ground, as if she expected to find it just lying on the floorboards, or rolled under the desk. Instead, her gaze lit upon the pocket watch, lying open where it had fallen to the ground.

The Doctor’s eyes widened. “Oh—right. I see. Yes, I think I’m starting to remember now.”

And then she turned back around, her eyes falling upon Yaz, Ryan, and Graham, as if for the first time realizing the significance of their presence. “Hang on then—what are _you_ three doing here?”

“Doctor—!” The puppet made a grab for the Doctor, who ducked again, popping up behind her. The puppet went crashing into the desk. “Right, we need to deal with these things. Anybody got a spare nano-chip lying around?”

“Actually, yeah.” Ryan dove for Dr. Brooks, who was currently pinned against the door alongside Graham, trying to force it shut on the nurse who had so rudely tried to strangle him. Ryan grabbed Dr. Brooks’ hand, ignoring his offended shout of surprise, and pried the nano-chip out of his fingers. He turned, and tossed it to the Doctor, who caught it easily.

“Oh, fantastic!” She held it up to the light, grinning wildly. “Somebody’s already reconfigured it!”

Yaz drew in a sharp breath. “Yeah, actually—”

“And they did a good job, too.” The Doctor was still admiring the nano-chip, oblivious to the nurse slowly untangling herself from the wooden surface she had just crashed upon. Yaz winced in sympathy; the poor girl was going to be feeling that when she woke up. “Almost something I would’ve done myself, only I would’ve gone a bit farther. Hang on—”

She brought the chip up to her face, squinting, and then landed a series of light touches along the edge with her thumb. A succession of beeps emanated from the chip and then, to Yaz’s astonishment, it dissolved in a puff of dust. Or rather, she supposed, nano particles.

“What did you do?” She gasped.

“Dissolved the signal!” Now that the nano-chip was no longer in existence, the Doctor brought her hands down and grinned, almost bashfully. “Pretty cool, huh? Almost forgot I knew how to do that. It’s really no harder than—”

A groan sounded from behind her and she stopped, turning around. The nurse, who had gone tumbling into the desk, was straightening up, rubbing her head. “Where…where am I?”

The Doctor automatically reached out and caught her shoulder, steadying her. The nurse looked up into her eyes. “Sister…Smith? What on earth is going on?”

“Oh, um…” the Doctor glanced at Yaz, not an ounce of recognition in her eyes, and she gave a slight nod, ignoring the hurt that stabbed at her gut. _Go along with it._ The Doctor shrugged, and turned back to the nurse. “Yes, um, I’m not actually sure where we are. Or what happened. But I’m sure we’ll be alright. Look, here’s a…a military officer here to explain things!”

She turned the nurse around gently, and gestured towards Graham and Dr. Brooks. “Actually…there’s two. Graham, are you a major?”

Graham and Dr. Brooks had collapsed abruptly against the door when the nurse trying to shove it open had come back to herself, and stumbled backwards. Now they both looked up, and Dr. Brooks frowned. “Are you…you’re not Mae, are you?”

“No.” The Doctor looked him over, her brow creasing into a thoughtful frown. “Some bits must be coming back though, because you look familiar. I don’t think I like you.”

“No.” Dr. Brooks straightened up, and began brushing at his sleeves in what might have been a nervous gesture. “No, I don’t suppose you do.”

“Hmm.” The Doctor surveyed him thoughtfully for one moment longer, and then looked around the room. “Right. Well, you all look in a state, and I’d really like to know how you all got here after I—oomph!”

She cut off as all the air was knocked out of her lungs by Ryan, who, without warning, lunged forward and wrapped her in a hug tight enough to crack ribs. Graham followed quickly behind, leaving Dr. Brooks alone to stare, shocked at his sudden impropriety. 

Yaz came last, and slowest of them all, entangling herself between Graham and Ryan, but not close enough that she was really hugging the Doctor. Something about actually touching her hurt in a way Yaz couldn’t quite understand. Not that she didn’t want to, really, but—just not yet. Not when the wound was so fresh and aching. Not when she kept looking at the Doctor and getting the feeling that she was the one wearing Mae’s face, and not the the other way around.

“Why all you all hugging me?” the Doctor’s voice came out muffled, wedged as she was in the combined embrace of her three companions. “And why are you all here? I thought I sent—”

“Oh, shut up,” Yaz told her, and she felt Ryan’s head beside her move up and down in agreement.

“Yeah Doc, just shut up.”

So she did, for several seconds, until an embarrassed cough brought their attention. They pulled away, to find Dr. Brooks still standing by the door, red-faced, and pointedly avoiding looking in their direction. “Ahem, if you’re quite finished?”

“Oh, uh—yeah.” Ryan disentangled himself fully and stepped away, as did Yaz and Graham. Once they were all thoroughly separate, Dr. Brooks brought his gaze up to meet them. 

“Er—Doctor, is it?” 

The Doctor nodded, no longer frowning at him but not quite smiling. “That’s me. One and only.”

Dr. Brooks opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, and then shut it again. “Very well. Now, I don’t know if you’re aware of the situation—”

“More or less, yeah.”

His eyebrows rose. “I see. So, I presume whatever you’ve done to fix them—” he gestured towards the nurse in the room, who was following the exchange in utter confusion. “Is permanent? We’ve won?”

The Doctor hesitated. “Well—”

A familiar shriek sounded throughout the room, and everybody winced, throwing their hands over their ears. It rung for several seconds, as painfully high-pitched as it had been the first time, before cutting off. They had barely lowered their hands from their ears before Stewart’s voice sounded, his tone a sharp contrast from before.

_“Congratulations, humans. You have broken our ceasefire, and demolished our troops. In doing so, you have spelled your doom. We will give you fifteen minutes, and no longer, before this hospital explodes, killing everybody inside. You have fifteen minutes to accept your demise; the doors have already been sealed.”_

The voice once again faded out with a long screech, but nobody even bothered to put their hands over their ears. They were too dumbfounded, stunned into inertia by the ultimatum they had just been issued. Then again, could it really be called an ultimatum if there were no conditions? 

Only fifteen minutes, a blink of an eye, and then they would all be killed.

The first thing Yaz registered was the unfairness of it all. It sank through her slowly, settling into her chest and spreading down to her fingers and toes. It wasn’t fair. They had fought so hard— _she_ had fought so hard—without the Doctor, and for this? Fifteen minutes to be killed? Outrage welled inside her, and spread outward. Suddenly, all she could think of was the terrible sadness in Mae’s eyes, right before she’d opened the watch.

“Doctor,” she hissed. “You have to do something.”

Anger made the words harsher than they should have been, but the Doctor didn’t appear to register it. She had a similar expression on her face, a narrow-eyed, steely look, her jaw twitching as her fingers curled into fists.

“Don’t worry, Yaz.” She wasn’t looking at her as she said it. Her gaze instead had found the watch on the floor. “I think I’m going to have a talk with them.”

———

She didn’t look as intimidating without her normal coat flapping behind her, but they trailed behind her anyway, slightly cowed by the cold glint in her eyes. She moved along at a surprisingly fast clip, turning corners and sailing down hallways with the confidence of one who had walked them many times before.

“How do you know where you’re going?” Ryan called after her, wincing at every jostling step. His hand was on the handkerchief around his shoulder, keeping it in place. 

“Been down here often enough, haven’t I?” she said without looking around. “It’s coming back to me some, bits and pieces here and there.”

“So you’ve been down to the basement then?” Graham was puffing slightly trying to keep up. He had left Dr. Brooks to attend the frightened nurse in the room, trying to convince her that they weren’t actually about to die. From the last he’d seen, he hadn’t been doing a very good job.

But of course, he wasn’t going to leave the Doctor—and neither were the others. Not so soon after they’d gotten her back.

“Nurses’ quarters are right by it, yeah?” The Doctor was looking straight ahead, her pace picking up slightly with every rounded corner. “I slept there every night, be a shame if I couldn’t remember _that_ much.”

Yaz was only slightly behind the Doctor, but at these words she picked up her pace, jogging slightly until they were side by side. She saw the Doctor cast a quick glance her way, and then her eyes snapped back to the front.

“So you do remember things, then?” She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know the answer to that question. She didn’t even know if it would help, or just make things worse. But the question itched at her, impossible to put to rest, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from asking.

“Some things, yeah.” The Doctor was still gazing straight ahead, her eyes on the stairwell they were rapidly approaching. 

“So then—” Yaz’s heart was in her throat, her blood pounding in her ears. “So then do you remember what happened with us? Just before—just before the aliens and everything?”

She didn’t know how to make it any vaguer or clearer than that. She’d purposely stayed as far away as she could from too many leading hints, and yet she knew—she knew—that if the Doctor remembered, she would understand exactly what Yaz was talking about.

They reached the stairwell, and the Doctor swung her hand out, grasping the handrail—and then she paused, her foot poised on the first step, and turned to Yaz, her gaze impossibly deep, and mournfully sincere. 

“I’m sorry Yaz. Haven’t a clue.”

———

“Son of mine, how is the teleportation signal?”

“Strong, Mother of mine. Exceedingly strong.” Lewitt’s voice crackled through the system comms, staticky and faint. Stewart thumbed a button on his headset.

“Excellent. Finish quickly and come back inside. We only have a few minutes left.”

Another round of static came over the comms, and then Stewart spoke. “Of course, Mother of mine. I just have a couple small fixes to make.”

“Hurry, Son of mine.” Stewart clicked off, and hooked back into the command module. As Lewitt was underneath, prepping the teleportation system they had jimmied onto the ship, he was busy sending the final activation codes for the bombs planted through out the the hospital. It was simple work, but tense; once every code had been activated, there was no going back. The bombs would go off, razing the hospital, and the teleportation system would siphon off the energy to bounce their ship right out of the fireball—and hopefully, close to the TARDIS, if their signal detection system was correct.

The plan was sound, but there was nothing about it that filled Stewart with satisfaction. It was a pyrrhic victory, nothing more than a glorified escape plan since, for the second time, they had failed to secure the Time Lord’s consciousness. Both Stewart and Lewitt had sensed the disappearance of the watch’s contained energy when it opened, and it was with seething anger (and not to mention, a little bit of panic), that they’d dived into their escape preparations.

If the Doctor was coming, they needed to be gone. Once their army had disappeared, Stewart had known that there would be little time. Even fifteen minutes was too long, but it was the shortest time they could spare in which to arm the bombs and ready their own escape. The announcement had been delivered to sow panic among the pitiful humans, to keep them from planning. From what Stewart knew of humanity, a little fear of death was enough to turn even the smartest group of the primates into a screaming mob.

But now, they were just about done—and the Doctor was nowhere in sight. Stewart sent the last code, heaved a sigh of relief, and disconnected from the command module. Just as he did, Lewitt’s voice sounded behind him.

“I’ve finished, Mother of mine.”

“Good, Son of mine.” Stewart turned. “Now we—”

He froze. Lewitt wasn’t standing in the doorway.

“But—”

The Doctor leaned casually beside the door, arms crossed and grinning. “Oh, just a built of ventriloquism. You know, I’ve actually gotten really good at it in this body. Wanna hear?”

She straightened up, and mimicked again Lewitt’s flat tones. “I’ve finished, Mother of mine. Just a couple small fixes.”

Stewart stiffened. “What have you done with him?”

The Doctor shrugged. “How about we go question-question? I’ll answer yours, if you answer mine. Deal?”

Stewart didn’t answer. He glared at her, wary of the bead of sweat dripping down the back of his neck. Disgusting, primitive, human body. “What question?”

“Oh, you know. The usual.” The Doctor gave a shrug. Her voice hardened. “How did you two escape?”

Stewart licked his lips. “Son of mine…escaped his chains. I believe he tricked…he tricked a weak man, a scientist, into scouring the world for the secret to unlocking his chains. He promised him fortunes.”

“And then he killed him?” The Doctor’s voice was like flint.

“And then he came and rescued me. I was the only one he could get to. Without the consciousness of a Time Lord—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She waved her hand dismissively. “I get it. You know, I set those punishments for a reason. Didn’t want to kill you. Should’ve realized you lot are smarter than that.”

Stewart’s eyes flicked suddenly to the console. The fifteen minute timer was down to a minute and a half, and yet the Doctor rambled on, oblivious.

“I’m definitely not making that mistake again. And to answer your question, Lewitt’s in the pile with the poor souls you’ve kept down here. I didn’t want to put him there, but can’t have organic material near the teleportation system when it’s activated, that’s a good way to get a bad mixup.”

“You—you’ve killed him!” Stewart gasped, his eyes falling back on the Doctor. “You’ve killed my—”

“Well. Yeah. Actually, no.” The Doctor pushed off the wall and began to pace, swinging her arms almost jollily as she explained. “I actually just sort of startled him while he was linking up the teleportation system, and, like I said, bad mixup. Also, it’s a very stupid idea to wire demolitions into a teleportation system.”

“We know what we’re doing.” Stewart growled. His eyes flickered back to the timer. Forty seconds left.

Surprisingly, the Doctor nodded vigorously. “Oh, yeah, you did a fantastic job! Actually it’s a shame that I stuck my hand in there—I really shouldn’t have meddled. I think I might’ve messed a few things up.”

Stewart’s eyes flew back to the Doctor. He rocketed to his feet. “What have you done?!”

The Doctor shrugged, nonchalant despite Stewart’s form towering over her. “Oh, not much. I just didn’t want those bombs to accidentally go off here because, obviously, little safety issue. So I added a little kick to the teleportation system so you wouldn’t need them!”

She was smiling, clapping her hands and rocking back on her heels as she said this. Stewart’s eyes were darting between her and the screen. Twenty seconds left.

“Buuut,”—she drew out the word— “I didn’t want to just leave those bombs hanging around anyway, so I put them somewhere safe.”

She reached out, rapped her knuckled against the wall of the spaceship. “Yep, I was right. This seems like a pretty sturdy place to put them.”

The timer was at fifteen seconds. Stewart was sweating. He wanted to rush the doorway, but—the Doctor was right there. Why wasn’t she running?

“If you send them here, we’ll both die.”

“Technically, yeah.” The Doctor turned back to face him. “Just wanted to finish explaining. See, the moment that timer hits zero, those bombs are gonna teleport into this spaceship, at the same time as this ship—I changed the coordinates, by the way—is going to rocket into a very empty piece of space, so those bombs don’t do any damage. Got it?”

The timer was at ten seconds. The Doctor glanced at it, and her eyes widened. “Oh, I let myself talk, didn’t I? I was going to give you a bit more time, I swear. Anyway, door’s right here. See you on the other side!”

And she ducked out, the clock at four seconds. Stewart didn’t hesitate, but tore after her, to the door, which she had stupidly—or purposefully—left open, and as he reached it, just two steps away from making it through, he risked a glance back at the timer on the screen.

The number one slid into a zero.

The Doctor’s feet hit the ground, and she stumbled a little on the hem of her dress. “Oh, I definitely don’t like these things,” she growled, then straightened up and whirled around, just in time to see the ship pop out of existence, leaving nothing but a few pieces of equipment scattered around the room, and the pile of bodies in the corner. Lewitt was on top of the pile—or, half of him was. His legs and a good chunk of his torso had been cleanly sliced off, as if somebody had taken an eraser to him. The Doctor shook her head.

“Really shouldn’t mess about with a teleportation system if you don’t know what you’re doing.” She sighed, and then turned towards the door, where she knew Graham, Ryan, and Yaz were waiting outside. She’d made them wait, and not only as a safety precaution in case things went wrong. 

They’d already gone through enough, from the sounds of it. Best to leave a few horrid things unseen.

So she just rolled up her sleeves—she _really_ was going to have to find something else to wear—and marched over to the door, swinging it open to the relieved faces of her friends.

“Fam!” she cried, and they turned to her, worry mingling into relief. “Good news; we’re not going to die!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i figured that, after giving them one chance, the doctor wouldn't make the same mistake again. I mean, they family of blood just don't give up. geez.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and now we're just wrapping a few things up, though don't worry! there's still some important stuff to cover in the next chapter. Sorry this one is short, but the next one is longer!

It took a while to get back to the TARDIS. There were things to clean up, as well as stories to get in order; and the Doctor insisted, strangely enough, on blurring out the memories of those most centrally involved. 

“It wouldn’t be good for time,” she said when Yaz pressed her, and wouldn’t elaborate, so eventually she left it alone.

The second delay was in getting to the TARDIS. While the Doctor was off smoothing out the details of what had actually occurred, Graham and Ryan and Yaz sat around, trying to figure out a way to avoid the trek back through the countryside.

“If it’s even still there,” Graham said doubtfully. “How do we know somebody hasn’t run off with it?”

“We don’t.” Yaz frowned. “But she—I mean, the TARDIS—has got to be prepared for that sort of thing, right? I mean, we’ve lost her plenty.”

“Even the Doctor has lost her,” Ryan pointed out. “Anyway, she’ll figure out what to do. Maybe she’ll find us a ride.”

“Maybe _we_ should find a ride,” Graham said. “While she’s doing her thing, I mean. Kill two birds with one stone, and all that.”

“I think she can find us a ride.” Yaz leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. There was something bitter sitting in her stomach, and it ate away at her joy of seeing the Doctor back. The boys seemed fine with everything that had happened, which she could grudgingly understand; after all the Doctor was back, the bad guys vanquished, and in a little while they would all jet off, maybe this time to a spa, or something equally as relaxing. Everything had gone back to the way it was supposed to be.

But Yaz sat there with a hole in her chest and a pit in her stomach, trying to fight the dismal urge to cry, and the worst part of it all was she couldn’t even figure out what she wanted to cry over. Because the Doctor was back, and it only took her two seconds and a smile to worm her way right back into the placed she’d reserved in Yaz’s heart, but now there was another hole there, a stupid, gaping, painful hole, that shouldn’t even exist because she wasn’t even sure if that person was gone, or indeed, had ever existed in the first place.

And it all came back to that same question swirling around Yaz’s mind, which try as she might, she could never find the answer. Had Mae been the Doctor, or part of her? And if they were the same person, kind of, did that mean that Mae wasn’t really gone? Did it even matter?

She wasn’t sure it did. The Doctor had said she didn’t remember what had happened, and clearly wasn’t treating her any differently. They were just friends now, only less than that, because there was no longer that open closeness that they’d shared between them—or at least, that Mae had shared with Yaz. Yaz wasn’t even sure the Doctor wanted to be open with her, not like they had been.

And that hurt almost as much as Mae’s disappearance.

So as Ryan and Graham debated their chances of nabbing a ride back to the TARDIS, and how dangerous that might be, Yaz settled against the wall and tried not to think of any of the miserable things bothering her, and failed completely.

————

Dr. Brooks registered the click of the doorknob turning immediately, and looked up just as it swung open, and Mae—no, it was the Doctor now, that mysterious Doctor—stepped into the room.

Dr. Brooks surveyed her momentarily, frowning slightly in an attempt to cover the sudden nerves leaping in his stomach, then looked down at the paperwork he had to fill out before him. A part of him wondered why in the hell Ma—the _Doctor_ was wearing men’s pajamas.

“I suppose you’ve come to erase my memory, as you’ve done to the others?” He wasn’t looking up. In times like these, it was always easier to stare at the pages in front of him. “I spoke to Arthur, he believes we’ve been the victim of some parasitic virus.”

“Yes,” the Doctor said. “And, well, no. I don’t think I’m going to erase your memory. I should, probably, but I don’t think you’ll tell anybody. And I want you to remember.”

At this, Dr. Brooks couldn’t help but glance up, astonished. “You—why?”

The Doctor was leaning against the door, arms crossed, the sleeves of her too-big pajamas trailing down. It shouldn’t have been intimidating, but there was something about the set of her face that made Dr. Brooks gulp. “H-How do you know I won’t tell everyone?”

“Uuuum…” the Doctor tilted her head, pretending to think about it. “Well, no one’ll believe you, first of all. That, and I might be being a little bit petty. Because I don’t like you.” 

Dr. Brooks snorted, and glanced back down at his papers. “Yes. You needn’t worry, Mae made that very clear.”

“Oh, really?” the Doctor abruptly pushed off the door, and crossed the room to stand over the desk. Despite her slight form, Dr. Brooks found himself leaning back. “Why on earth wouldn’t she? Only because I—she did everything possible to prove she was better than anybody sitting the university exams, and you still wouldn’t let her? Only that little thing?”

Dr. Brooks couldn’t bring it in himself to look up again. Instead, he reached for a pen, though he had nothing to write. “I don’t believe my actions were wrong. I saved her from an embarrassing failure at the university, and set her down a path to success. And she would see that, if she weren’t so emotional over the subject.”

“I think anybody would be emotional about their hopes and dreams.”

There was something about the soft way the Doctor delivered those words, that suddenly gave Dr. Brooks the absurd notion that the Doctor wasn’t talking about Mae as if they were separate people. There was something personal there, though she hadn’t referred to herself. Had she? 

Dr. Brooks’ pen paused, and he looked up again. “Doctor…”

“Mmm?”

She looked awfully like Mae for a moment, the same steely-eyed determination, coupled with just a hint of anger, that Dr. Brooks saw whenever he turned her down. Dr. Brooks swallowed, then continued.

“Is Mae…is she gone? Or are you…”

The Doctor studied him for a moment, and Dr. Brooks shrank, though for no logical reason. There was something incredibly scrutinizing in her gaze, as if she were opening him up and taking a look inside, checking all his morals and values, making sure everything was in order. Deciding if she wanted to give a truthful answer or not.

“You know, I really don’t know.” She was still looking squarely at him, her gaze uncomfortably intense. He wanted to look away, but couldn’t. “It’s not a black and white thing, is it? But I remember everything she did, everything she felt, and I remember doing everything myself…so does that make her me?”

She shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe it’s a bit of both.”

Dr. Brooks wasn’t how to respond. Then, he narrowed his eyes. “So, you remember tearing my bookcase apart.”

She smiled, slightly, but it wasn’t a nice smile. “I have a bit of a temper. And to be fair, you did just ruin my life.”

“Right.” Dr. Brooks dipped his head in acknowledgment, unsure of what to add. “Erm…so then, why did you want to see me? Just to tell me off?”

He sounded distinctly sullen, even to his own ears, and the Doctor immediately caught it. Of course she did. Her smile grew wider, and slightly sad. She shook her head. “Oh, Dr. Brooks. Can I call you Evan?”

“My name isn’t—”

She ignored him. “Right, Evan. So the question is, what to do with you? You’re a product of your time, really. Heart’s fairly in the right place, just with some distinctly unpleasant views about women. Wonder where that came from. Nanny wouldn’t let you have dessert before supper?”

“I—”

She laughed, at her own semblance of a joke, and waved her hand at him. “Wait, I’m not done. I’m still trying to figure out what to do with you. Really I should just leave it, but—you’re bothering me. Or, you’re bothering Mae. Or both of us. So, what should I do?”

Dr. Brooks stared. “What—what to do? I don’t understand. Are you upset because I pointed out obvious differences in male and female brain structure?”

The Doctor groaned, and ran a hand over her face. “Oooh, I wish I could pop you to the future! Alright mate, this is annoying, because I’m going to have to do it the hard way.”

She stuck a finger in her mouth, pulled it out again, and held it up to the air. Dr. Brooks watched her in disbelieving disgust. “Yep, that’s perfect. Alright.”

She put her finger down and looked to him. “Okay Evan, here’s the what’s what—or is it deal? Never mind. In a few years time, you’ll be back at the university. And there’s going to be another girl there, a poor girl, who wants to be a doctor, and has the smarts to do it. With me?”

Dr. Brooks was following, but at a much slower pace. “Are you telling me my _future?”_

“Keep up, Evan!” she wrinkled her nose. “Right, so there’s going to be another girl, yeah? And nobody’s going to recommend her, but you—” she jabbed her finger at him— “Will. And you’ll support her, if she needs it, and fight in front of the Dean and whoever else objects for her to get through. Because she’s gonna have it a lot harder than the rich lads studying, and she’ll need the help. Got it?”

Dr. Brooks was still staring at her, unsure if she was being serious. “How would—how would you know all that?”

The Doctor shrugged. “I’ll check up. But that’s not important, is it? What’s important is that you’re going to do one right thing, just one, and because of that, you’re going to watch somebody who desperately needs it succeed. And then you’re going to see.”

“I—” Dr. Brooks wanted to object, purely on principal, but the Doctor leveled him with another one of those cold gazes. He stiffened, then bowed his head. “Fine. I’ll do it. Probably ruin my career, but—I’ll do it.”

“Good!” And just like that, the Doctor was cheery again, all hints of iciness gone as she clapped her hands together. “Absolutely brilliant! Well, have a good life Evan, I’ll be back to check up in a few years. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve been sorely missing my fam. Or gang, that sounds pretty cool too, doesn’t it?”

And she turned around and swept out of the room, leaving the door to swing shut behind her, and Dr. Brooks to stare at the place she had vacated, wondering what on earth a _fam_ was meant to be.

————

Ryan and Graham were still arguing over the chances of finding a ride back to the TARDIS, when the door they were waiting around banged open, and the Doctor stepped out, a wide grin spread across her face. 

“Done!” she exclaimed, and clapped her hands together. “Sorry it took a bit more than I expected, but everything’s smoothed over. They all think they had an outbreak of a parasitic virus. Really nasty stuff, though not quite as nasty as the real thing. Oh, and thanks for the digs, Ryan.”

She winked at him, and he just nodded, eyebrows raised, but made no comment. The Doctor had insisted immediately after leaving the basement that she needed something to wear other than a dress with long sleeves—who wore long sleeves on a dress?—which she couldn’t even _run_ in, for crying out loud. She refused to wear a military uniform, however, and so the compromise was the spare set of pinstriped pajamas donated from Ryan himself, who had no further need for them, and claimed they were scratchy anyway.

“Alright, so—time to get a shift on?” she phrased it as a question, still grinning. “Where’s the TARDIS hidden herself, then?”

Yaz, Graham, and Ryan exchanged a glance.

“Er—she’s a bit far from here,” Graham said. “Parked herself in a village ‘bout seven kilometers away.”

“Yeah, we would’ve brought her closer only we don’t actually know how to steer,” Ryan added. “And she sort of didn’t tell us where we were going. Not even to Yaz.”

Yaz nodded in confirmation. The Doctor cast her an odd look at the comment, but didn’t pursue it. “Ah. I see. Hmm. That puts us in a bit of a sticky situation.”

She thought for a moment, and then her face brightened. “Or, it doesn’t! Not if you happen to have a teleportation system hanging around!”

“Uh—” Ryan looked uncertain. “Isn’t that sort of dangerous? Didn’t you say they were attaching bombs to it?”

“Nah, got rid of those.” The Doctor flipped her hand dismissively. “So, what d’you say, gang? I’m feeling gang for a bit, hope that’s alright by you all.”

Graham, Ryan and Yaz looked at each other once more. Than, slowly, they nodded. Graham shrugged. “It wasn’t that great of a walk the first time around, anyway.”

———

It didn’t take long for the Doctor to rewire the teleportation system, though she made them all stand a good distance back. Her warning about mixing foreign organic material into the rewiring was supported by the remnants of Lewitt, his lifeless eyes staring at them from the top of the bodies piled up in the corner. They all edged carefully away from the heap, though every once in a while Yaz couldn’t resist casting a nervous glance towards Lewitt’s form. Or, what was left of it.

“Shouldn’t we tell somebody about the bodies down here?” she whispered to Ryan after several minutes of tense, restless waiting. The Doctor was crouched over a mat with some kind of a tablet balanced in her hand, muttering to herself as she swiped components around on the screen. “It’s kind of awful that they’re here, and nobody knows about them.”

Ryan shifted his gaze to her. “Actually, I already did.”

“Really?” Yaz said, impressed. “When?”

Ryan shrugged. “When the Doctor was mindwiping the others. Didn’t sound very nice to hear, so I went and found somebody and told him. I don’t know if he believed me, but he said he’d send someone to check it out. Only they’re a bit busy up there, with everybody so confused.”

Yaz nodded. It made sense. Still she glanced again at the pile, and couldn’t help but wish once more that they were far away from the hospital, and from the whole thing. The bodies only reminded her painfully that, despite their relative success, people had died right under their noses, and they’d been completely unaware. Hell, Yaz had only been down the hall. She couldn’t ignore the feeling that she should’ve done something more, only she couldn’t think what. It just made her feel more miserable.

“Got it!” The Doctor popped up from her crouch, and turned to face them. “Next stop, TARDIS! Who wants to go first?”

“I’ll go.” Graham stepped forward, then caught sight of Ryan and Yaz's expressions. “What? I trust her. And I’m desperate to get back to the TARDIS, the food here’s awful.”

“Thought you liked the food.” Despite her bad mood, a smile twitched at Yaz’s lips.

Graham shrugged. “I was just saying that. It was definitely better than what you lot were eating, but it certainly wasn’t up to 21st century standards, I’ll tell you that.”

“Right on, Graham!” The Doctor bounced excitedly on her toes. “First victim! Er, I meant—not—actually, you know what? Let me just show you how it works.”

She gestured Graham onto the mat, explained a couple things in a hushed voice, and then stepped away, and pressed something on the screen. Instantly, Graham vanished.

“Whoa!” Ryan exclaimed. The Doctor spun around. “Oh, c’mon Ryan? What else did you expect from a teleportation system?”

But she still couldn’t keep the smile on her face as she ushered him onto the mat, explained quickly what he was meant to do—stand still, don’t think too hard, don’t cough—and then tapped the screen of the tablet, sending him off as well.

Yaz was the last to go. She stepped forward before the Doctor could turn around to call her forward, and said, “Why can’t you cough?”

“Shakes up the internal organs too much,” the Doctor replied absently. “Okay, reading says he’s safe, so—”

She turned around, not expecting Yaz to be quite so close, and nearly hit her. “Oh, sorry Yaz!”

Yaz caught her arm, and without thinking, laughed. “Still awkward, I guess.”

“Never haven’t been.” The Doctor grinned, and then realized her arm was still caught by Yaz. “Um, I didn’t wire it for two people, so—”

“Oh, right.” Yaz jerked her hand away, flushing, and mentally cursed. She was slipping already, confusing her interactions with the Doctor now with the way she had talked with Mae before. It didn’t work like that way anymore. It couldn’t. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.” The Doctor’s face fell slightly, and for a moment she was silent, studying Yaz. Then she jerked back to life, her grin sliding into place, and held up the tablet. “Ready to travel?”

Yaz smiled. “Beam me up, scotty.”

“Ooh, excellent reference Yaz! Ten points. Actually, fifteen. I’m feeling generous.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: I originally didn't have the Doctor confront Dr. Brooks at the end, because I thought I couldn't fit in in. Then I read it over, and realized that whole subplot just couldn't be left hanging, so I went back and added it in. Oh, and Dr. Brooks' name isn't Evan. i just thought the Doctor would be the type to make up a name for someone. I mean, she sort of is.
> 
> Aaaand, only one chapter left! I almost want to post it tomorrow. I'll try to restrain myself, however :)


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it is! the last chapter. I can hardly believe we've gotten to this point. I hope you guys enjoyed the journey as much as I did. And I hope I was able to bring this to a satisfying conclusion (I made it surprisingly difficult for myself)

They had been floating steady in the time vortex for at least ten hours, and the humans showed no signs of wanting to do anything. The Doctor couldn’t really blame them, but after five hours of doing nothing the impatience was nipping at her heels, sending her rifling restlessly through the library, then the kitchen, only to be kicked out because Graham wanted to make “a proper sandwich, and not with any of those weird alien goops you keep pushing into my face”.

So she found her way to the console room, dug up a few things that needed fixing, and by hour seven was settled in underneath the console, welding mask in place, trying for what she thought might be the billionth time to fix the chameleon circuit.

A few hours later, the Doctor was at the point where she knew she wasn’t going to get anywhere, but she was too comfortable to stop. Tinkering was relaxing. Hooked into the TARDIS—and properly hooked in, not just the telepathic communication they usually shared—she could feel the humming of the TARDIS herself, and the flow of the time vortex as if it were sliding over her own skin, eddies of artron energy swirling peacefully around her. Hooked into the TARDIS was the closest she felt like to home. Not to mention that one day she might actually manage to fix the chameleon circuit. 

But not today.

“Ow!” the Doctor said for the dozenth time, as she plugged in a wire and was rewarded with a painful shock to the fingers. “That wasn’t even conductive!”

She glared up at the console through her mask, and deep in the back of her mind, could feel the TARDIS laughing at her.

“I don’t get what’s so funny,” she grumbled, and pushed up her mask to stick her fingers gingerly inside her mouth. “’Ou’re bein’ mea’ to me.”

She felt a distinct confirmation in her mind, and scowled, removing the fingers from her mouth. “What did I ever do to you?”

A brief series of images flashed through her mind, starting with her setting up the Chameleon Arch, to the TARDIS’s reluctance, and flashing through a sequence of her stumbling out into the basement hospital, leaving the TARDIS alone. It ended with a bang and a flash of light, as what was left of the Family of Blood forced their way into the basement and then tried to blast their way into the TARDIS, forcing her to dematerialize with burning paint and an extreme sense of indignation.

The Doctor winced. “Ooh. Sorry.”

But the TARDIS didn’t stop there. Instead, she shoved a new set of images into the Doctor’s head: a flash of Yaz running through the halls, calling her name, hooking herself into the TARDIS and slumping over, unconscious— 

“I didn’t—”

Another scene, this time pulled from the Doctor’s memories, a series of happiness-drenched conversations and shy grins, friendly jokes and glances when she thought she wasn’t looking, a quick, interrupted kiss, and then another, tear-strained and grief-filled— 

“I know, I know!”

The images stopped, abruptly. The Doctor glared up at the console, and then reached up and slammed her mask back into place. Her voice came muffled through the metal plating.

“I get it. I _know.”_

Another thought floated up to her, small enough that it came to the Doctor in simple words. _You remember._

“I know! I know I do, I was there, remember?”

The TARDIS pressed another image into her mind, one stolen from the Doctor’s recent memories; a glance from Yaz she thought the Doctor hadn’t caught. A set-jaw look, uncertainty in her eye, as if she couldn’t quite decide who she was looking at. A sense of distrust, and bitterness. Slight betrayal.

Without thinking, the Doctor cringed.

The sense of success immediately ran through the TARDIS, and if the TARDIS had the lips, the Doctor knew she would be crowing. _I’m right! I’m right!_

“Ooh, you’re annoying, that’s what you are.” She bent her head down and reached out to flip a switch.

And instantly received a shock to the fingers.

“Oww!” she cried again, and looked up indignantly. “Can’t you put it to rest? I already told her the wrong thing, didn’t I? How am I supposed to fix that now?”

A mental shrug from the TARDIS, followed by a thought. _You panicked._

“Yeah, and I was dealing with a little bit of aliens at the moment too, if you hadn’t noticed.” She reached out again to flip the switch, saw a warning spark, and drew her hand back.

There came an undulating sigh, heavy enough that it seemed to swirl around the console room, and then the TARDIS brought up a series of things—Gallifrey, the Time War, a stupid, immature runaway, and a dozen different faces, a thousand crimes and a thousand more good deeds—and at the end of it all pressed the truth of them into the Doctor’s own head. Not that she needed the help. She was already thinking it.

_I don’t want her to know. I don’t want to have to tell her all the things I’ve done, everything I am. I’m better the way they see me now—funny faces and technobabble and a million different planets to show them and not a single one I’ve destroyed, and not too-quirky and not too-alien and—_

_—not real._

She huffed, but brought her mask up onto her forehead. “You didn’t even have to tell me that one.”

This time the TARDIS didn’t reply. She just brought up an image of Yaz, timestamped .0002 seconds ago, sitting in the library on a squishy, beaten blue couch, a book on her lap open to a page she wasn’t reading, because her eyes were red-rimmed and staring into nothing— 

The Doctor contemplated the image for several long seconds. She had half a mind to bring her mask down again, just to shut it off, to spite the TARDIS, but she only knew how _that_ would look.

And okay, maybe she knew why she wanted to do that. It was easier to sit here and tinker than try to fix something that was very badly broken. Especially when it meant giving away more of herself than she ever really wanted to.

But then, the Doctor reminded herself—it was _Yaz._ Brilliant, daring, kind _Yaz,_ who’d managed to walk right in and plant herself in the Doctor’s heart while she hadn't even been there to protect it, and now didn't even have the nerve to leave. Instead she stuck there, obstinately, demanding _more._ More truth. Openness. Honesty. All things that rebuilt trust, and all things that the Doctor hated at all cost, for they prickled too uncomfortably close to vulnerability, and that was something she hadn’t had in a long time.

And it would be so easy, to slide her mask back down and take another shock, or a dozen more, and pretend she hadn't heard the TARDIS blaring her own hypocrisy back in her ears. So easy, to pretend everything was fine, and return to her normal, silly facade, and watch Yaz be half-there. A little heartbroken, maybe, but half-there still, and that was enough, right?

Right?

The Doctor reached up, and removed the welding mask. She placed it on the floor beside her, and stood up, brushing off dust and rubbing at smears of grease.

“Shouldn’t have switched out of the pajamas,” she muttered, and then straightened and looked up at the console. The TARDIS’s satisfaction resounded through her.

“Right, right, I know.” She clambered up onto the console level, and looked towards the hallway, suddenly gaping at her. Her heart quailed, and, without thinking, she whispered, “What if she doesn’t want to know?”

The TARDIS didn’t even need to give her an answer. The Doctor already knew what she was going to say, and she hated it, but she accepted it anyway. 

_You never know until you try._

With one last breath, she squared her shoulders, and set off towards the library.

————

Yaz didn’t mean to brood, but she only realized in retrospect that a thick tome about some intergalactic war she’d never heard of wasn’t the right material to keep bad thoughts at bay.

She hadn’t really been paying attention when she’d picked it though, simply plucked it off the shelf because Ryan had come by to ask if she was okay and she’d replied that she was fine, thanks, it was just dusty which was why she was sniffling, and she was just picking a book, so…

She didn’t think he bought it.

But he left her alone, and so Yaz plopped herself down onto the nearest, most comfortable-looking couch she could find, and tried to read. And she really did try. But it was too complicated, and the writing too tiny, and there was too much background knowledge needed to understand, so before long she found herself staring into nothing, and brooding.

Yaz wasn’t really the type to brood. She never had anything to brood over. Sonia was the brooder, the one who always had a different boy currently breaking her heart. Yaz never had any boys because she was too busy trying to actually _do_ something with her life, and also, well…

At least, she thought bitterly, she was brooding over someone worth brooding over. Somebody special, not a boy of the week, not even a stupid crush, but a real person, a real, brilliant person, who’d been brave and kind and good and in the end had still died, except she hadn’t because she was still here, the same person only completely different—but _not,_ too, and that was the thing that kept Yaz going in circles, because she couldn’t even figure out if she’d had her heart broken or not.

The only way she could think to figure it out was to ask—but that, of course, was completely out of the question. The one person who would know was the one person she was finding it incredibly painful to be around, whose very presence was a confusing mixture of happiness and uncertain grief, not to mention endless, eternal embarrassment, and it was at this point in her cyclical thoughts that Yaz was seriously considering just asking to be let off the TARDIS. If only for a little bit, just to figure things out.

And the bitter irony was that a month ago, before this whole adventure—or could it be called fiasco?—she would have never thought that she’d ever want to be back in Sheffield, of all places.

Yaz stared at the book, which fortunately held no tear stains because she’d long passed the point of crying, even if she was a little sniffly. She looked at the tiny print without really reading, and tried to decide if she should go to the kitchen and brew some comfort tea, which risked running into the Doctor, or just go back to her room and— 

“Yaz!”

The Doctor’s voice echoed from the entrance and Yaz jerked up, sending her book sliding off her knees. She caught it, just in time, and quickly shoved it to the side, then proceeded to freeze, because she didn’t know what to do. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to confront the Doctor yet.

But the Doctor called again, insistently, and then Yaz heard her footsteps pattering down the hallway. Then the pattering turned into pounding, as if she were running through, checking each stack, and after a few moments Yaz took pity on her and called, “I’m back here!”

There was a muffled “Oh good!” and then the pounding continued, closer and closer, and a few seconds later the Doctor skidded around the corner and came to a halt, panting.

“Sorry,” she gasped. “I just—had a moment, thought you weren’t here, and then I thought ‘oh no, she’s gone off to her room and then I’ll never have the courage to knock so it has to be now’, but if you weren’t here—”

“Doctor,” Yaz cut her off, confused, and okay, maybe a little bit angry, now that she had the chance to be. “What are you talking about?”

For a moment, the Doctor didn’t respond. She heaved a breath, as if squaring herself to say something, and then didn’t say it, and then squared her shoulders and gulped once more. Yaz looked on, confusion turning to uncertainty. “Doctor, you don’t—”

“I lied, Yaz.” Yaz froze, and the Doctor saw it, and stiffened. Then she rushed forward, sliding to her knees on the floor in front of where Yaz sat.

“Wait, please, let me explain. I lied when I said I didn’t remember, or it was a half lie, because things really were coming back to me, but it doesn’t matter! I lied and I told you I didn’t remember because you asked me and I was scared and I’m so used to lying—which probably isn’t the right thing to say but never mind—that when you looked at me I just froze and did the first thing that came to my mind and it was wrong Yaz, and I’m so sorry.”

She rushed it all in one big sentence, and when she came to an end she reached out to touch Yaz’s hand, and then stopped, uncertain, and pulled it back. Yaz caught the movement, and a part of her—a mean, selfish part—was sort of glad for it. 

“That’s not fair.” It was the only thing she could think of to say. And as she tried to think of something else, anything else, the only thing that flashed to her mind was an image of the Doctor’s face as she’d said those words; so utterly sincere that Yaz had bought it without a second thought.

The Doctor nodded vigorously. “I know, and I’m—”

“No, you _don’t!”_ Without warning Yaz rocketed to her feet, sending the Doctor stumbling backwards. “You don’t know, you really don’t, and you can’t just come in and apologize for the last lie you’ve done, as if saying sorry for the last one is going to excuse everything else!”

The Doctor scrambled to her feet. “Yaz, I didn’t mean—”

“I know you didn’t!” Her vision was starting to blur. Apparently she wasn’t done with crying after all. Oh well. “You never _mean_ badly, but apparently you don’t care enough to _not_ lie to me, or _not_ keep us in the dark about everything!”

All of the anger and grief that had been roiling under the surface, all of her uncertainty and insecurity and embarrassment about the whole thing—it was all spilling over now, as if she had just been waiting for the Doctor to give her the opening. Maybe she had.

“Don’t you think that maybe we get a say in this? We’re your friends, Doctor! _I’m_ you’re friend, and I would go to the ends of the earth for you, and you know what’s really dumb? That I _still_ would, even after everything you just did, and it’s not fair because I don’t know a single thing about you!”

She jabbed a finger into the Doctor’s chest. “You just—you lie to us all the time! You keep us in the dark when it suits you and make jokes and funny faces to distract us from asking any questions, and it’s all an act! And all I’m asking, literally all I’ve ever asked, is that you just treat me like an equal. Share a bit, tell me who you really are. But you never do. Mae did, but she’s gone now, isn’t she? And I don’t think I know who you are.”

She paused, catching her breath. The Doctor’s eyes tracked down to Yaz’s finger, still jabbed into her collarbone, and then back up to meet her gaze. Softly, she said, “You know who I am, Yaz.”

Yaz stepped back, shook her head. “I don’t. I thought I did, but I don’t. The most you’ve ever told me about yourself is when you were human, and that wasn’t even you, was it?”

The Doctor hesitated, then smiled, sadly. “I’m not—Mae’s not quite gone, Yaz. She’s still here, inside of me.” She placed a hand over her chest. “It’s just—when I opened the watch, I remembered more of me. That’s all.”

“No.” Yaz shook her head. Some part of her wanted to believe her, wanted the whole situation to be solved just like that—but it was too neat. Too perfect. And she remembered Mae’s fear, remembered it far too clearly whenever she closed her eyes. “You can’t be. I saw her. She was human, and she was _terrified—”_

“But _I_ remember that too.” The Doctor’s voice was soft, her eyes beseeching. “She didn’t die, Yaz. I didn’t die. I just—she was a different me. That’s all. With a few less memories.”

Yaz glared, unconvinced. “You can say that, but—I _saw_ how much Mae didn’t want to change back. She was _so_ scared, and—” she gave a slight shake of her head. “Tell me Doctor, do you really know? Is Mae—are you her? Or is she gone?”

The Doctor looked at her for a long moment, her eyes filled with a deep, weary sadness. Then she looked down and sucked in a deep breath. When she let it out, her shoulders sagged. “Honestly? I don’t really know. I don’t think I ever will. I’m sorry.”

She lifted her eyes slightly on the last part, to meet Yaz’s gaze, and in them Yaz saw her honesty plain. “But—I remember all of those things, if it matters to you. Every thought, every feeling—every conversation we had—I remember them.”

“…Oh. Okay.” Yaz knew she sounded the tiniest bit petulant, but she couldn’t help it; she didn’t know what to say. It was all too much to take in—and she didn't know what to believe. 

And the Doctor had said she _hadn't—_

The Doctor hesitated, waiting for her permission to keep going. Yaz cocked her head to the side, and made her wait. She knew it was stupid, immature even, but she was still angry. And even beyond that, she still wasn’t sure she believed what the Doctor was trying to tell her. It simply didn’t make sense, _couldn’t_ make sense, because if Mae and the Doctor were one and the same, that meant that all the things they’d shared were—or could be—

No. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair for the Doctor to stomp all over Yaz’s heart and pretend to mend it, just to shatter it all over again.

But she gestured for her to continue. “I’m listening.” 

The Doctor nodded, slightly relieved. “If it helps, I like to think of it as—like a puzzle, with all the pieces jumbled. And the thing is, when I opened that watch, it was like somebody had just put all my puzzle pieces back in place, in the right order. It all came raining back on me, all the things in my life that didn’t click, and it made me realize—it made me realize everything else I was missing.”

She paused, her expression seesawing between something, and then continued. “I suppose, what I’m trying to say is—it wasn’t sad, Yaz. Not for me, at least. I’m happy to be back.” 

Her smile turned hopeful on the last part, as if she wanted Yaz to believe her, wanted Yaz to be happy as well, and Yaz—she wasn’t quite there. “But you passed out after. When you woke up, you didn’t even know where you were.”

The Doctor shrugged. “Well, _yeah,_ my whole life rushed back into me all at once! That’s enough to give anybody a good knock to the head. My brain needed a few minutes to readjust. Not to mention my body was rewriting itself back into Gallifreyan DNA.”

Yaz considered this. It made sense—to a point. But there were other things wrapped around it as well, things that didn’t make sense, _couldn’t._ “I don’t get it though. I don’t get how you can be her, and why you would lie to me on the stairwell, if you still feel—”

She stopped herself just in time, but she knew the Doctor noticed—could tell by the way she glanced at the ground, shuffling her feet, the air around them suddenly thick with a different kind of tension. All of a sudden, Yaz felt incredibly stupid. “You know what? Never mind. Forget the stairwell, specifically. That one hurt, yeah, but it doesn’t hurt as much as the fact that you’ve got the nerve to stand there, telling me that you’re Mae, and she’s you, so it’s all okay, but—it’s not! Because you can say that all you want, but I’ll never know the truth if you never tell me who _you_ are— _now._ So I can decide. Because I deserve that too, you know.”

At first the Doctor didn’t meet her gaze. She studied the floor, and then the book still sitting on the couch, and it took her several seconds to finally look into Yaz’s face. When she did, Yaz was surprised to see a flash of fear.

“Do you—do you really want to know, _that_ bad?” The Doctor pleaded. “Yaz, can’t—can’t this be enough?” she gestured to herself, her trailing coat and too-short trousers, her rainbow-striped shirt. “Can’t I just be the me you know? I have so many different faces, Yaz, two thousand years of them—oh, you didn’t know I was two thousand years old, did you?—and not all of them are nice. A lot of them are downright evil.”

She paused, and swallowed dryly. “I don’t—I don’t want you to know those parts of me, Yaz. You’ve barely met me, and, I’ll admit, I’ve tried to keep it that way. I’d rather you look at me and smile without a clue who I really am, than look at me in disgust because I told you the truth. Pretending is so much easier. I’d keep pretending, if I could.”

“Don’t see why you couldn’t.” If the words slipped out a little too coldly, that couldn’t be helped. “You didn’t even have to have this conversation.”

“Yeah, but—” the Doctor sighed, and palmed the back of her neck. “I would never have forgiven myself if I haven’t. You’re too important to me, Yaz, you know that? And maybe I’m a coward, but—”

“You’re not a _coward.”_

“I am a little bit, actually.” The Doctor gave a nervous smile. “I am, and that’s why I’m sort of quaking in my boots here. I don’t want to lose you, Yaz. And I know it’s different now, the two of us, and it probably won’t be the same as it was between you and Mae, but—we’re still mates at least, aren’t we?”

She looked up at Yaz and smiled, shaky and fearful and hopeful all at once, and her eyes were scared, not ‘we’re facing down aliens’ scared, but proper scared, vulnerable and deep. Yaz had never seen that look upon her face, never seen something even close. She cocked her head, considering. Trying to decide.

At last, she spoke. “It’ll definitely be different.”

“It has to be.”

“And no more lies.”

“No more lies.”

“I mean it.” Yaz narrowed her eyes. “No more lies, or joking around to change the subject, or hiding things because you’re ashamed of them. I don’t want to accept it if it’s going to be like that.”

The Doctor hesitated, licked her lips nervously. And nodded.

“Because you know I’d do anything for you, and it’s stupid, like really, _really_ stupid, but—there it is.” She crossed her arms again, her face stubborn. “So even if you are Mae, or you’re not anymore, I still want—I _need_ to know who the idiot is I'm risking my life for. ”

At this, the Doctor cracked a smile. “Oh, Yasmin Khan. You’ve no idea what an idiot I am.”

Yaz sniffed. “I’ve got a bit of a picture, actually.”

“Yeah, I suppose you do.” The Doctor’s grin grew tentatively wider. “Are those all the conditions?”

“I guess so.” Yaz let her eyes run over the Doctor for a moment, taking in the hopeful smile, the relieved sag of her shoulders. In that moment, she looked real. More real, more open, then Yaz had ever seen her. Slowly, a warm feeling blossomed in her stomach, a cautious flicker of joy. Maybe things really were going to be alright. She would miss Mae, miss her more than anything, but if the Doctor was right, if she was actually telling the truth…maybe they could start again. 

“So, what do we do now?”

The Doctor seemed taken aback at the question. She thought for a moment, then her eyes tentatively brightened. “Well—”

She thumped down onto the sofa and pushed Yaz’s forgotten book to the side, tucking her feet underneath her, then patted the vacated space beside her. Yaz hesitated, but only for a moment. Then she sat down as well, curling up close enough that they were almost touching. 

“I was thinking, maybe—if you wanted to ask questions.” The Doctor looked up at her, and Yaz saw a glimmer of trepidation. Her hand reached out, uncertain, to touch her knee. “Anything you want. I’ll answer. Just—you should know—”

Without thinking, Yaz caught her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. A half dozen memories flashed through her mind as she did so, of herself and Mae, hands entwined, and she waited for that sharp pain in her gut, but it came faded and dull. The Doctor’s hand felt just the same as hers.

Funny. She’d almost expected it to feel different.

She met the Doctor’s gaze with a reassuring smile. “Just try me, Doctor. I’m pretty tough, you know. Sheffield PC and all that.”

“Right,” the Doctor murmured. “Yasmin Khan, the most formidable police officer on the block. So…what would you like to know?”

“Um…” It only took her a moment to decide. “Let’s start at the beginning, yeah? Tell me about your home planet. Where you come from.”

“Ah, good one. My home.” The Doctor nodded, and took a quiet breath, as if preparing herself. The she began to gesture, timid at first, but more expressive as she went, painting the scene before them. “I was born on a planet called Gallifrey, in the constellation Kasterborous. We had two suns, one natural, and the other we put up there ourselves. The sky was this—this burnt orange, the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. And there was this school I went to, called the Academy…”

“And you were a good student?”

“Nah, I was terrible, always argued with the teachers.”

“Oh. Actually, I could see that.”

“Oi, unfair! My friend got into loads more trouble. And _anyway,_ as I was saying…”

The Doctor continued, and Yaz listened, rapt, as she launched into a story about her childhood, a far-off smile on her face, and her eyes shining with memories as yet untold. They kept their hands entwined, and didn’t disentangle them, not even when Yaz fell asleep on the Doctor’s shoulder, trapping her into another several hours on the couch.

The Doctor didn’t particularly mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand, that's a wrap! Let me just say, you guys have been absolutely wonderful. Your comments brighten my week, every week, without fail. Thank you so much for all your continuing support. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it.
> 
> I really hope I've managed to end this story in an acceptable/satisfying way. Full disclosure (I hope ya'll don't hate me for this), but I was planning for Yaz and the Doctor to kiss in the last chapter. But then, as the entire story came to be written, I realized that it just didn't seem realistic. IMO, they had to much to work through to end up kissing, especially since Yaz and Mae only got to like, twice. Yaz and the Doctor have a lot to rebuild, first. BUT, my intention here was to display that they're on that path! Maybe they have to relearn their relationship, but the feelings aren't gone! They're just starting over.
> 
> Again, thank you all for following along on this story. I had a great time writing it as well as sharing it, and I love seeing that other people enjoyed my sort of silly little headcanon-gone-mad as well. Seriously, thank you all <3

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on twitter if you want hear rants about fanfic and/or thasmin: https://twitter.com/hetzi_clutch


End file.
